


Jeeves and the Lessons on Love

by triedunture



Category: Jeeves & Wooster
Genre: Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-30
Updated: 2009-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-04 00:56:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triedunture/pseuds/triedunture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeeves takes Bertie under his wing to teach him the secrets of love-making, but then things quickly go from "Oh my" to "I say!" Plot bunny shamelessly stolen and mucked up a bit from <a href="http://pipariperho.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://pipariperho.livejournal.com/"><b>pipariperho</b></a> <br/>Warnings: angst, manual sex, oral sex, frottage, and sex-sex. Bertie POV</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[fic](http://triedunture.livejournal.com/tag/fic), [jeeves](http://triedunture.livejournal.com/tag/jeeves)  
  
---|---  
  
_ **Fic: Jeeves and the Lessons on Love (Part 1)** _

 

&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;

It all began late one night, when I trickled into the homestead after a diverting evening at the Drones. Jeeves met me at the door as usual, taking the hat, coat, and stick with his trademark deftness and efficiency.

"Good evening, sir. I trust you passed an enjoyable few hours?" Jeeves asked, ever the consummate caretaker.

I frowned like a frowning thing. "No, Jeeves, in fact I did not." I strode into the sitting room and availed myself of an armchair, plunking down the corpus with a heavy sigh.

"I am sorry to hear that, sir." In a flash, a cocktail appeared on a small salver at my elbow. I took it and, just as instantaneously, Jeeves produced the silver box of special cigarettes. It wasn't until I was well ensconced in my chair, puffing away at one thing while sipping judiciously at the other, that Jeeves ventured further inquiry. "May I ask what is weighing on you, sir?"

"You may, Jeeves, you may." I licked the lips, head cocked to the side in a fashion not unlike a curious parrot. "I was at the Drones, you see, and Bingo arrived fresh from his honeymoon. He sends his regards, by the by."

Jeeves inclined his head in acknowledgment, but otherwise continued floating about the room, replacing the box of cigarettes on the mantle and returning the salver to the sideboard.

"Anyhow, Bingo was chatting with Boko and Beefy and all the other chaps who've taken the oath in the spongebag trousers. A goodish amount of what they were talking about went over my head, Jeeves, and Boko must have noticed my look of downright confusion, because he clapped me on the back and said, 'Do try to speak slowly for old Bertie, gents. He still thinks the stork is going to deliver a Bingo Junior in nine months!' And then everyone burst into peals of laughter! I mean to say, of all the bally nerve."

"Am I to understand, sir, that the married gentlemen were discussing certain marital issues which you yourself are not comfortable speaking of?" Jeeves fluffed a pillow on the chesterfield in an idle fashion, or as idle as Jeeves ever appears.

I took a long pull of my cig. and expelled the smoke through my nose. "I am not comfortable with the topic as it appears I am the only member of the Drones who does not have intimate knowledge of what happens in the bedroom between husband and wife." I threw my hands up in the air and ducked my head, the picture of surrender. "There it is. I've said it. I'd never in a million years let the chaps at the club know that, but that's that."

"Well, sir," Jeeves said, standing straighter as he sometimes did to show he was exerting all his focus on a problem, "it is true that the majority of your acquaintances have achieved the state of matrimony. As you have thus far avoided taking a wife, you cannot be blamed for being unfamiliar with the process."

I shot the man a glare calculated to wither, though it did no such thing; Jeeves is immune to withering. "Exactly the argument I used, Jeeves. I told Boko that I was still a bachelor and was therefore excused from the conversation, but then Oofy bally Prossor roared with laughter and said he had a girl in every city from here to Madrid, and that I wouldn't know what to do with a girl if she threw herself at me." I took the final swig of the drink and handed the glass to Jeeves, who held out an empty salver for it. "I must say, Jeeves, it stings when a room full of your closest chums are howling themselves silly at your expense."

"The experience would seem to be an unpleasant one, sir," Jeeves said.

I eyed Jeeves' back as the man turned to the sideboard to fix another cocktail. When Jeeves had added the last ice cube to the glass and enough of a pause had filtered through the room, I said, "Oofy was right, though. Of course I wouldn't have the faintest idea what to do. Suppose I meet the girl of my dreams. Our wedding night would prove to be a disaster, if indeed I even got that far. These modern women, Jeeves. They must expect some sign that their prospective fiance isn't a complete dud."

"As you say, sir." Jeeves delivered the second drink to my waiting hand. I lifted the rim of the glass to my lips, thought better of it, and then put the glass down again.

"Jeeves," I said, "are you very experienced in the art of love?" Now, normally, I would never ask such a thing of my valet. The man's privacy was something sacred in my eyes. His mysterious ways stayed so, including the ingredients of his morning pick-me-ups (a continual bone of contention with my friends who wished they could recreate it in their own homes). However, my desperation and my curiosity had gotten the better of me, I suppose. I added very quickly, "I only ask because, well, you're very experienced in everything."

"It is kind of you to say so, sir." Jeeves stood somewhat stiffly; there kicked that dashed feudal spirit. However, Jeeves gave one small cough into his fist before stating without a blush or a blink, "Yes, I have had ample opportunity to explore intimate relations with a number of trusted persons. I would hesitate, sir, to divulge specifics to you; I'm afraid it would not be proper to betray that trust."

"Oh, of course, Jeeves. Not very _preux_ for a gentleman to kiss and tell, what?"

"Indeed, sir."

"Can't bandy a woman's name about, certainly."

"Precisely, sir."

I found myself nibbling at my thumbnail, a nervous habit that I'd thought defeated in grammar school. I gave the attached thumb a disapproving look and then raised my eyes to Jeeves once more. "I've been considering a brothel, Jeeves."

There is a certain look that Jeeves adopts when seriously stricken. I have seen it when Jeeves is presented with fruity hats, ties, or spats that he deems unsuitable. And I saw it now as Jeeves stared back with said soupy expression.

"I could not advise it, sir," he said.

"Yes, but dash it, Jeeves, how else is a young man like myself going to learn the ways of love?" I cried. "Oofy made it quite clear that he avails himself of professional ladies every so often. I can't say I find the idea anything but distasteful, but there really isn't any recourse as far as I can see."

"I could _not_ advise it, sir," Jeeves repeated.

"Well, what could you advise?" I huffed. "Oofy says he has the perfect girl picked out already. Name of Gillian or Lillian or something. Though I suppose it wouldn't matter. Egad, what a sad thought, Jeeves."

Another cough as from a sheep on a distant hillock. Jeeves looked up at the ceiling with just a flick of his eyes. I sometimes wonder if that's his version of asking for guidance from the Heavens or if it's his way of expressing his displeasure with the comparatively flawed Almighty. "It is apparent that you trust me with the knowledge of your lack of sexual education, sir. Do you perhaps trust me to be your teacher?"

I blinked. Took a sip of my neglected drink. Blinked again. "You would do that, Jeeves? Take the young master under your capable wing and share all your secrets of lovemaking?"

"I would, sir."

"But Jeeves, I see a small hitch." I squinted up at him. "Surely I need a filly on which to practise. Can't expect to absorb everything from your lectures, what?"

It happened like this: Jeeves took two delicate steps forward, planting himself firmly in the personal space of the young master; he leant down, bending at the waist with his hands still clasped behind his back; and his lips brushed against mine as light as a feather. I may have forgotten to breathe. Jeeves' lips then went to my ear, where they whispered, "My lessons will be of a very practical nature, sir. In my experience, such as it is, there is little difference between the genders when it comes to the fundamentals of pleasure."

To say I was gobsmacked would have certainly won some sort of prize in the Understatement of the Year category. I leaned back in my chair to look Jeeves fully in the face. "Good Lord. Is that true, Jeeves?"

Jeeves assured me it was.

"That is," I licked my tingling lips, "very convenient." My mind was still reeling at this. It had never occurred to me before tonight that Jeeves was as susceptible as any man to the temptations of the flesh, and it would have never crossed my mind that Jeeves had dallied with coves as well as women. But then again, who was more thorough than Jeeves? He leaves no stone unturned, what?

"If such a scheme is amenable to you, sir, I would gladly proceed," Jeeves spake again, interrupting my t. of thought. "Of course, such activities would be purely for your elucidation."

"Come again, Jeeves?"

"There would be no complications of feeling, sir."

"Ah, no strings a., you mean?"

"Indeed, sir."

"Right ho. Do you think these lessons should begin tonight?" My gaze dropped completely unbidden to Jeeves' quirked mouth. It was nearly a smile, that. "I suppose the sooner I get cracking, the sooner I'll graduate with floating colours."

"Flying colours, sir. A nautical term indicating victory in battle. And it is rather late, sir. Would you care to perhaps begin tomorrow?" Jeeves asked, standing straight, once more the paragon of valets instead of the enterprising Don Juan.

"Oh, rather." I hauled himself out of the armchair and bid Jeeves a goodnight. "And Jeeves?"

Jeeves turned, silhouetted in the doorway of the kitchen.

"Thank you for this," I said with a grin, putting my eyes into it, if you get my meaning. I was really rather touched.

"My pleasure, sir."

The next morning dawned early, for I had spent much of the night in a sleepless daze. It wasn't first-day-of-school jitters, exactly, but my mind wasawhirl with unanswered questions. How in blazes was Jeeves going to demonstrate how to touch a female, for instance? I would admit to being no expert on these matters, but I knew enough to see that birds like Jeeves were not anywhere near ladylike. Jeeves had said there would not be much difference, but dash it, I didn't see how that was possible. And so my fretful mind caused me to toss and turn.

_Trust Jeeves_, was the only solid truth I could manage to grasp.

Finally giving up on getting any blasted rest, I sat up in bed and waited precisely three minutes; Jeeves then wafted into the bedroom, bearing the usual cup of Darjeeling. "Good morning, sir," he said blandly enough, bunging the tea down on the bedside table and beginning his routine. I watched him as he spirited round the room: curtains opened, clothing laid out, bathwater running, shaving things readied, lint brush employed, etc.

"Morning, Jeeves." I sipped at the tea. "Jeeves, when shall we begin these lessons of yours?"

Jeeves levered an eyebrow an eighth of an inch up his map, as if he had doubted I would remember the pact from last night. "I leave that decision to you, sir," he said.

"Well, no time like the present. If it 'twere done, 'twere hey nonny nonny and all that." Another small sip. "I'd rather like to get the first bit over with, you know. Like ripping plasters."

Jeeves' dark brows drew down in his classic look of disapprobation, if that's the word I want. "Your teeth, sir."

"My what?"

"You have not yet brushed them or gargled, sir."

"I say!" This was a bit thick. I mean, I may not be as fresh as a daisy upon waking at nine in the ack emma, but I certainly didn't see how I could reek so much that Jeeves noticed from the opposite side of the room.

"You have also not bathed, shaven, or dressed. I am sorry, sir, but a very large part of courtship relies on presenting a complete picture of cleanliness," Jeeves said. "This is, I fancy, the first lesson I must impress upon you, sir."

"But Jeeves, you ensure I'm scrubbed and polished every day. You know I always—"

"Yes, sir. And you shall continue to exert such efforts when preparing for a kiss or lover's embrace, even if they are only practise. Such actions are key in showing a woman that you've thought of her comfort; many, I'm told, find this an attractive quality." Jeeves flicked an invisible bit of lint from the charcoal check. "Once you've completed your ablutions, sir, we may proceed."

Feeling not a little cheesy from the schoolmaster-like lecture, I finished my tea and slunk toward the bath. Jeeves' words rang in the Wooster ears, so I therefore paid extra attention to cleaning under my fingernails, between my toes, and behind the ears. The morning shave took about twice as long as normal, as I was determined to get the closest shave possible. The toothbrush got some vigourous use as well as the bottle of gargle. When I finally emerged from the bathroom in my dressing gown, I was as pink and clean as I'd ever been, and I hoped Jeeves would give his seal of approval.

Jeeves was waiting in the offing, setting out shoes and whatnot. He kept his attention on these things, as was proper, until I had donned the underthings and gave a "what ho" to indicate I was ready to put the day's raiment on the Wooster frame. Jeeves turned, looked me up and down from stem to stern, and nodded once.

"A very pleasing effect, sir," he pronounced.

"Really? I mean to say, I hope I didn't forget anything." I allowed Jeeves to bung me into my shirt.

"If I may speak freely, sir?" Jeeves asked as he attached the braces to the anchors on my trousers.

"Jeeves, I think if this wheeze of ours is to be successful, you must be allowed to be frank with me at all times. Brutal honesty, that's the ticket. Now, do you find something lacking in the young master's appearance that might drive away any prospective paramours? That is to say, something that can be helped; my nose can't be made smaller, you know." I crossed my eyes very briefly to get a look at the thing. For as long as I can remember, my beak has been my most ungainly feature.

"I do not allude to your nose, sir. I am concerned, however, that in your fervor, it seems you have applied a bit too much aftershave." Jeeves held my trousers open for my feet.

My face fell like a sack of hammers from a long way up. "Oh. I suppose I did overdo it just a touch." I stepped into the trouser legs with a defeated air. "Shall I go scrub my face?"

"No, sir. It is a very small detail of no major consequence." Jeeves applied the waistcoat to my form and saw to the cuff-links as well. "For all intents and purposes, you measure up to the required standard."

"Does that mean I'm actually kissable, Jeeves?" I asked with a grin.

"I would say so, sir." The suit coat fell on my shoulders, and I looked at the finished product in the full-length mirror. Jeeves fiddled with the knot of my tie and the peaks of my pocket square, but it was only out of habit; everything was just right. I don't mean to sound like a narcissi-whasit, but I cut a fine figure that morning. I met Jeeves' eyes in the mirror.

"Well, then. Well, well, well." I expected Jeeves to start with the liplock lessons then, but the man merely biffed off. I gaped for a moment, then followed on swift feet. "I say, Jeeves! Erm, the young master is quite ready for your pointers on kissing. That is, if you'd like."

"Certainly, sir." Jeeves indicated the chesterfield with a sweep of his arm, and I took a seat as bade. Jeeves remained standing. "The first order of business on that front, sir, is to gather as much information on your past experiences as possible. Forgive me, but I must ask you about your past romances and exactly what they entailed."

My hand crept into my suit coat where my cigarette case beckoned, but then I considered that smoking a gasper would necessitate another teeth-cleaning before the labial lessons could begin. And so I abstained, letting my hand fall to my lap. "Not really much to say, Jeeves. Of course I've kissed plenty of fillies. Florence, Madeline, Pauline, erm, when we were engaged, of course."

"And how would you describe these kisses, sir?"

"Oh, you know." I gave a wave of my hand. "They were, that is to say, just, well." The truth was, I had been kissed more than done the kissing. My usual role was that of a helpless victim, smooched by one fiance or another. "Brief, I suppose?" I finally finished.

Jeeves remained unmoved beside the chesterfield. He seemed distinctly unimpressed with my rendering of these facts.

"Dash it, Jeeves, I could just _show_ you," I pointed out. "You kissed me last night. No need to stand on ceremony now."

"Sir," Jeeves adopted that twinkle in his eye that meant he was as close to laughing as he ever was, "do you believe that small gesture I bestowed upon you last night was a kiss?"

I frowned in confusion. "Well, yes. Your lips on mine. I believe that's the accepted definition of the thing. Am I misinformed?"

"Very much so, sir." Jeeves bent down, his face very close to mine. His eyes did not drift shut, but held my gaze unerringly. "Would you like me to correct your misapprehension?"

"Carry on, Jeeves."

My valet lifted a hand and caressed my hair, running his fingers through the damp strands and mussing them terribly. I was about to protest this, as so much care had been taken in getting it just so, but then Jeeves' hand was sliding round the back of my head and I was unable to move in any direction other than the one Jeeves was now guiding me. My eyes drifted shut; I could smell the subtle scent of Jeeves' aftershave mingling with my own overdone brand. Then there was a soft puff of breath on my cheek as Jeeves bent lower.

His warm mouth covered mine in a way very similar to the chaste press of lips we had shared the previous night. But then something shifted: Jeeves deepened the kiss, his hand tightening in my hair, not in a way that hurt, mind you, just reminded me he was there. I gasped at the suddenness of this passion and Jeeves must have taken that as a sign to slip his tongue, wet and hot, into my mouth. My eyes flew open, though my vision was swimming with sparks and I could see nothing but the close-up of Jeeves' face. A noise escaped my throat, a bit of a manly exclamation of surprise, you know. Certainly not a plea for anything.

Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. Jeeves lifted his head, released his death grip on my hair, and stood with placid calm. Only the slight reddening of his lips told the story of what had just happened.

"That, sir," he said to me, "is a kiss."

I touched my swollen mouth with shaky fingertips. "My word." It was obvious that this was a technique I had to have in my quiver, to borrow a phrase. I looked up at Jeeves with all the right Wooster spirit I could muster. "Come, sit with me, Jeeves." The cushion beside me was patted in invitation.

Jeeves seemed to hesitate, and I gave a bit of a snort. "Your tongue was just in my mouth, Jeeves. I don't think sitting in the presence of the young master will mean the end of the world."

With a flick of his coattails, Jeeves deigned to sit on the very edge of the cushion. It constantly amazes me how a man of Jeeves' towering height and broadness of shoulders can move so daintily. It's like watching an elephant do ballet, which, so I hear, is something that happens at that PT chap's shows in New York. But that's beside the point.

"Can I give it a go now?" I reached for my man, eager to jump right in, but Jeeves stopped my progress with a raised hand.

"May I suggest you start slowly, sir?" Jeeves said. "Many people operate under the mistaken assumption that a kiss deals only with the lips, but as I hope I have just demonstrated, there are myriad variables that go into a memorable embrace. Your hands, your breath, the anticipation, all of these things must be contemplated."

"Right ho." I nodded. "I—I'll give it my best." I gave him a little of the baby blues. It's not often that I employ them to much effect but I thought it couldn't hurt; eyes being the w. to the s. and all that.

Jeeves gave a nod of assent, and I lifted a palm to his jaw. I cupped it carefully, feeling the strength in that sinewy skin, the virile pulse in Jeeves' throat. With a silent prayer that I wasn't mucking up too badly, I lifted my other hand as well, framing Jeeves' face with both palms. I drew Jeeves forward. And then stopped.

We were so bally close. My nose brushed against Jeeves' cheek, and I fought to keep my lungs from doing their impression of a bellows. I don't know when my eyes closed, but they did. Seeing seemed less important than feeling the heat of Jeeves' skin and smelling the soft woodsy-soapy scent of his hair and clothes. I don't think you could blame a person in my position for quailing.

Here was this paragon of men before me, awaiting my, that is, Bertram W. Wooster's, kiss. How absolutely wonderful and frightening. I watched my hand trail down Jeeves' throat to hold onto his tie, just below the perfect knot. "Jeeves . . ." I whispered, though I found I could not finish the thought. I shook my head and pressed a kiss to Jeeves' soft lips. Jeeves did nothing, do not lift his hands in return, did not make a sound. Worried that perhaps he wasn't feeling the proper amount of pressure, I deepened the kiss and touched the tip of my tongue to Jeeves' mouth.

Jeeves opened to me, thankfully. He tasted of mint and coffee, and I realised that Jeeves must, at some point in the morning, eat breakfast like any normal person. Well, I say, the young master was learning all sorts of new things. The time came for me to reacquaint myself with air, so I pulled away reluctantly, and then pressed a final kiss to Jeeves' jaw.

My eyes drifted open to see that we were still so very close. My hand was now wrapped round Jeeves' tie, so I felt the rumble in Jeeves' chest when he spoke: "A strong first showing, sir."

"Thank you, Jeeves." The absolutely level way Jeeves spoke gave me the pip. My own heart pounding in his chest like I had just ran four marathons in a row! There was sweat beading at my temples and my hands still trembled. But Jeeves was as cool as a bally cucumber. "I suppose, with more practise, I'll be able to complete the manoeuvre without coming so close to fainting, what?" I tried for a laugh, but it came as more of a breathy hiccough.

"It is likely, sir," Jeeves said, and kissed me again. Needless to say, his were still the better kisses.

We stayed on the chesterfield for several hours, trading kisses back and forth: gentle ones, violent ones, thoughtful ones. Jeeves explained to me that many people had sensitive ears, and lavishing attention on them was generally thought to be a solid idea. I accepted Jeeves' practical demonstration, which resulted in the Wooster eyes rolling back into the Wooster head. I was then given a chance to try the same on Jeeves, though Jeeves did not shudder like a leaf in the wind as I had expected. So I licked the back of Jeeves' neck just to give that a try, and that produced the proper response.

"You've got a sweet spot here, Jeeves," I murmured, my overworked, puffy lips brushing the little hairs on Jeeves' nape.

Jeeves craned his neck further to give more access. "It is a weak point of mine, sir."

"I suppose everyone has one, what? That is, I need to take the time to learn all these spots with each lover I meet." Remembering what Jeeves had taught me when he'd bitten my lower lip a few minutes ago, I applied my teeth to the skin on the back of Jeeves' neck. My valet gasped once, just a sharp intake of breath really, before he pulled away as quick as a shot. He looked over at me blankly.

"I should have stipulated before, sir: please, no marks."

I remembered then, this didn't mean anything, and no one could ever know. Good Lord, no one could _ever_, ever know. If someone spied a Wooster-shaped bite on Jeeves' person, then it was curtains for us both.

"I'm so sorry, Jeeves." I hung my head. "Got carried away, I suppose."

"No harm done, sir. Luncheon will be ready in one hour." And just like that, Jeeves swept out of the room, leaving me alone on the chesterfield.

Have you ever noticed how bally quickly switches get into gear once they're flipped? One second, on. The next, off! That was exactly how the week progressed. Every day for an hour or two, Jeeves would take me aside to continue my "sensual education," as he put it. I was soon taught every sort of kiss under the sun, every type of caress of the damask cheek. My lips became chapped, and Jeeves produced a pot of ointment. My mouth became dry, and Jeeves fetched a glass of ice water. The necking would continue until the switch flipped and Jeeves deemed the lesson over for the day. Then he would float about the flat as if everything were normal.

There was more to it than the labial press, of course. Jeeves also ensured I was taught all the little gestures that would hopefully one day lead to kissing with the right lady; offering to light a cigarette, helping with a coat, that sort of thing. I had had no idea that such things were supposed to be infused with passion. Jeeves' favourite lesson was that of eye contact during these courtesies.

"The eyes have the unique ability, sir, to convey your message. There is no need to be crass in your courtship, but be firm. If you allow just a fraction of your ardour to show in your gaze, the object of your attention will realise your intent," Jeeves stated. And he had me lock eyes with him for a long moment, until finally I looked away with a flush on my neck.

I was beginning to wonder if I could survive it, to be honest. Not that is wasn't dashed pleasant; I appreciated Jeeves' efforts in showing me how to woo. But the lessons would always leave me with legs crossed to hide the painful evidence of my, shall we say, ardour. I'd ruined several perfectly decent hand towels in the past few days, ducking into the privacy of the bathroom and pulling myself off with a speed that would have impressed even my twelve-year-old self, for whom a stiff wind was liable to bring about the telltale hardness in his trousers. But at least I was receiving proper instruction.

"I feel quite accomplished in this lovemaking field, Jeeves," I said one afternoon as I smoked in the sitting room. We had been practising for almost every day for two weeks, and I had good reason for wanting to be up to speed.

"Indeed, sir?"

"Indeed, Jeeves. And not a moment too soon. Bobbie Wickham is going to be in town next week-end." I examined the glowing end of my gasper, wondering if Bobbie would have an aversion to kissing right after a smoke; Jeeves had told me he, at least, had no such aversion.

The temperature seemed to drop by several hundred degrees when Jeeves answered, "May I inquire as to why Miss Wickham's arrival in the metropolis is so highly anticipated, sir?"

"Now, Jeeves, I know Bobbie is not the stuff fiances are made of—"

"I could not agree more, sir."

"—but she's always had that certain special something about her. I like her spirit, Jeeves. As far as kissing partners go, I could do far worse than Bobbie. I hope this week-end will lead us down that path, what?" I smiled up at the man, proud for having come up with the wheeze all on my lonesome.

Jeeves coughed into his fist. "If you will forgive me for saying so, sir, I do not think your amourous education is complete. Would it be wise to leap into the fray, as it were?"

I pointed to myself and grinned. "Wooster. That's what we do, Jeeves."

"Very good, sir," Jeeves answered, as chilly as a penguin at the South Pole. "However, I strongly suggest you attempt to prepare yourself for this liaison with Miss Wickham. It would not do, sir, to embarrass yourself."

I stubbed out my cig. and frowned. "What d'you mean, embarrass myself, Jeeves?"

"Please, sir, take a seat here on the piano bench and I will show you."

Well, when a man like Jeeves tells you to sit at the piano, you sit. So I made my way over to the old girl, taking my place on the bench and facing the keys in the normal way. Jeeves cleared his throat and said, "A quarter turn to the right, sir, if you would be so kind."

I wasn't sure what he was on about, but I had trusted Jeeves thus far and decided it would be folly to stop now. So I turned and straddled the piano bench, one leg on either side. I squirmed. "Not very comfortable, I'm sorry to say."

"My apologies, sir. I fear your comfort will not be assured today."

I sat up a little straighter; I mean to say, what? Jeeves had always gone to great lengths when kissing the young master to ensure I was at ease. What could this change in protocol mean? But I had no time to ask, as Jeeves had already stepped lightly over the piano bench and sat behind me.His arm came round and snugged across my ribs, and with that arm, Jeeves gently guided me into leaning back against his strong chest.

"Today's lesson revolves around the importance of self control, sir," Jeeves said, his voice a low murmur in my ear. One large, square hand travelled down my waistcoat, playing along the buttons as if I were a musical instrument of some kind. "A proper lover always sees to his partner's pleasure before allowing his own to overcome him. If you cannot hold back, you will appear quite selfish."

"All right, but I don't see—" I tapered into a loud gasp; Jeeves had latched his sharp teeth onto my earlobe and was nibbling on it as if it were a delicious morsel. "Jeeves, you know that's a sensitive spot for me," I choked out.

A brief kiss to the shell of my ear followed. "I know, sir. I have seen you harden at the lightest brush of my lips to this area."

Hot colour flooded my cheeks. I was certainly glad now that I wasn't facing my valet; I must have looked ridiculous. "You weren't supposed to see that. Lord-love-a-duck, it's an embarrassing reaction—"

"One that you will learn to control." Jeeves worried my earlobe between his teeth once more, and I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning. My arms lifted to encircle Jeeves' neck, but Jeeves gathered both my wrists in one large hand and held them captive behind my back. "I am sorry, sir, but this is a necessary torture. You need only endure for fifteen minutes." His other hand trailed down my body once again, pausing as it encountered the tented material of my trousers. His fingertips stroked at just the very tip of my hardness through the wool, and I positively thrashed in Jeeves' arms but could not find freedom.

"Good God, man! S-stop!"

"You would have me release you and leave the room, sir? Our lessons would be at an end, if you so wish it," Jeeves said in that coal-dark voice of his that he only used during our lessons. His grip on my wrists lessened, lending his threat some merit.

"No, no, no," I babbled, "just, please. Let me go to my room." The pressure building in my body was getting to be unbearable, and it was imperative that I be allowed to finish in peace.

"I'm afraid that is not an option." Jeeves laved my ear once more. "If you cannot do this, then how do you plan on pleasing your lover for more than the briefest moment?"

"Couldn't I just see to her after I was finished?" I pleaded. Jeeves must have disliked that sentiment, for he merely pressed the heel of his palm even harder into my cockstand. "Holy Christ!" I cried out.

"I've never heard you curse in such a way, sir. Are you close?" Jeeves asked.

I shook and panted, slumped back against Jeeves' chest. Although I gulped great lungfuls of air, none seemed to stay with me. "So close. Please, just let me—"

"Eleven minutes."

I gritted my teeth and tried my damnedest to not feel Jeeves' fingers on my cockstand, the solidness of his body behind me, the hot breath in my ear. Of course, such a thing is impossible. You've probably never been in that exact position, but you can take my word for it: there's nothing for it. A desperate sob escaped my lips.

"I'm not like you, Jeeves. I'm not made of stone. I can't—"

"Eight minutes," Jeeves said against my neck.

"Finish me off, damn you," I groaned. "Oh Lord, oh my Lord."

The crooked line of Jeeves' nose pressed against my cheek. "Seven minutes and forty seconds."

For the second time, I struggled to free my hands from Jeeves' iron grasp. They were still trapped behind my back, squashed between our bodies. I managed to spring my left hand free, only to have nowhere for it to travel but downwards, where a small hollow between Jeeves' firm stomach and my spine lay. And there, despite Jeeves' best attempts to recapture it, my hand found an answering hardness in Jeeves' lap.

"J-Jeeves?" I tried to turn my head to look at the man, but I couldn't move a muscle; Jeeves' arms had turned into iron bands, holding me in place with not an inch given.

"I am _not_, in fact, made of stone, sir," Jeeves hissed in my ear. "Watching you writhe like this is enough to make anyone react in carnal sympathy. But I will not allow these urges to control me, sir, and you can learn to do the same if you try." His palm gentled, cupping my cock once more. "Five minutes."

I sagged in my valet's arms, my limbs doing a fair approximation of San Francisco during the quake. The smell of Jeeves, so musky and warm, was making my head swim and knowing that Jeeves' arousal was nestled against the small of my back, knowing that it was Jeeves' hand playing along my trouser seam, knowing that Jeeves knew exactly where and how to touch me to bring me off in under fifteen minutes: it was too much. My hips jerked of their own volition, my mouth dropped open to release a pained mewling noise, and I shook like billy-o. I could have cried in relief, or shame.

Jeeves lifted his hand and I could see the dark stain now spreading across the front of my trousers. "I just couldn't," I whispered. My face was on fire at this point, and I wanted nothing more than to sink through the floorboards and be gone.

In an instant, Jeeves had removed himself from my personal space and stood next to the bench. I lifted my gaze and noticed Jeeves was offering his handkerchief to me. With numb fingers, I took it and began dabbing at my trousers.

"I have faith that you will improve in time, sir," Jeeves said quietly, "but you are not yet ready for what Miss Wickham would demand of you." And he biffed off to do whatever it was Jeeves did in the kitchen. I stared glumly at my ruined trousers and then dragged myself to the bedroom to change.

For several days, neither I nor Jeeves brought up the topic of the lessons in lovemaking. Bobbie Wickham came and went from the city and I did not attempt to see her during her visit. It was clear that any dallying done with Bobbie would be a disaster, as Jeeves had shown. I was determined to overcome this horrible weakness in my character before exposing my future bedmates to my amourous advances. During the long and lonesome nights in my bedroom, I would bring myself to an erect state and then ball my hands into fists in the sheets, refusing to touch myself for as long as I was able. My best time was about seventeen minutes, which seemed laughably short. It was not pleasant work, I can tell you, and when I woke in the mornings I was much like an angry honeybear that had been roused in the middle of his long winter nap. The dumps were deep, and I could not haul myself out of them.

Then, one stormy afternoon, while I was sitting at the window watching the progress of the raindrops on the window pane, Jeeves approached with a soft cough.

"Sir? Have you any plans for this evening?"

"No, Jeeves," I sighed. "This blasted weather. It puts one in a mood, what?"

"Perhaps this would be a fine opportunity to continue with your lessons, sir," Jeeves said.

I scoffed like a scoffing thing. "Pah! I don't think I'm cut out for these sorts of activities, Jeeves. No, best to leave it to experts." I waved the man away, but Jeeves stood his ground.

"It occurs to me that I have made an error, sir," Jeeves said. Somehow the world did not stop turning. I turned to face him, stunned at this confession, but he merely continued lightly. "I did not intend to discourage you so. Although you will need to learn how to give pleasure, you also must learn to receive it. I should have begun with the latter lesson, sir. It is . . . a more pleasant task for the pupil."

"Receive—?" But before my question could even make an appearance, Jeeves had somehow materialised on the floor, kneeling at my feet. His hands, warm and sure, rested on my knees.

"It is likely that your lovers will bestow this kind of oral pleasure upon you," Jeeves said, his eyes not leaving mine for an instant. "Would you like me to show you how to proceed in such a case?"

Not trusting my voice, I nodded and watched as Jeeves unbuttoned my flies with deft fingers. "A considerate lover must show appreciation for this act, sir, as it is so one-sided. Unless your partner has indicated a liking for roughness, you should refrain from thrusting too vigourously."

It then dawned on the Wooster brain exactly what was about to happen. It was but the work of a moment for my body to go from a normal resting state to hard and wanting. Jeeves reached into my trousers and pulled out my stiff cock. It was the first time he had touched my naked flesh in this way, and I shuddered at the feeling.

"How long shall I try to last?" I asked breathlessly. I wanted to tell him I'd been practicing, but then thought better of it and held my tongue; it wouldn't do to have Jeeves think I was cheating at this little game of ours.

Jeeves looked up at me with that spark in his eye. "If you last too long, your partner's jaw will become sore. Therefore, in this instance, speed is an asset, sir."

"Oh good. Because I have a notion that I may be reduced to jelly in two ticks." I allowed my head to fall back against the armchair, my eyes squeezing shut as Jeeves licked at me. "Oh, that's bally marvellous."

Jeeves hummed, whether in agreement or what have you, sending tiny vibrations through my body. A cry of ecstasy was wrenched from my throat, and Jeeves' strong hands clamped onto my hips like vices. His hot mouth engulfed my arousal entirely. I stared down at the sight, noticing the rather pleasing cupid bow shape of Jeeves' lips for not the first time. My own hands, empty and wishing for some work to do, fidgeted on the arm rests of the chair. Jeeves took my hands in his own, without even looking up, without even missing a beat in his rhythmic sucking, and guided them to his hair.

I dug my fingers in those black tresses, unsure of what Jeeves wanted me to do. I had found that, when kissing Jeeves, it was best to ask for help if one felt completely at a loss. So I went by the same policy. "Do you want me to, erm," I swallowed audibly, "stroke your hair, Jeeves?"

Jeeves paused in his ministrations for a moment to look up and me and say, "If you would." He returned to his chosen task, and I set about attempting to run my fingers through Jeeves' hair without mussing it too badly. I'd never seen him without a perfectly combed and oiled head of hair adorning his cranium, and I was certain he wouldn't appreciate a hair out of place. But once again, I was proven wrong.

"Sir," Jeeves said, downplaying a small slurping sound as he ceased his sucking, "your hands feel hesitant."

"Yes, well," I settled my silly hands on his shoulders for a moment. "I know you always look your best, Jeeves. I didn't want to—"

"When making love, it is acceptable and expected for a gentleman to rumple the appearance of his bedmate, and to appear disheveled himself." Jeeves plucked my hands from his shoulders and directed them to his hair once more, really digging them in this time. "I find it heightens the sensuality of the act, sir."

"Right-o. I will rumple with the best of th~aaaaaaah!" My declaration turned into a bit of a fluttery cry as Jeeves sucked me once again. My fingers clutched at his hair of their own accord, and I didn't even have to think of directing them. The Wooster hands seemed to know just what to do re: rumpling that head of jet-black hair. I watched as they ruined the perfect, glossy strands, mussing it into wild dark waves. "Jeeves," I said in what turned out to be a very shaky voice, "I-I'm about to come off. You should—" I tried to pull him away, yanking at his hair quite violently, but he only shook his head and continued sucking.

"Oh, Jeeves," I gasped, "you don't mean to, to let me finish in your mouth, do you?" He hummed again, this time bobbing his head in assent, still without looking up from his task. I could only see the top of his head, but the set of his shoulders and the fervour with which he laved my cock spoke of his intense concentration. Without my consent, my thighs began trembling as if I were having a spell or something. One of Jeeves' warm hands wrapped round the base of my cockstand and pumped a few times, and that was all she wrote. I fisted my hands in Jeeves' hair, causing him to lift his head a bit so that just the tip of me remained in his mouth. My spine arched like a bridge off the chair and I let loose a high-pitched noise that sounded a bit like "Haaaaaaaaa!" Or maybe it was more of an "Uhhhh!" It is difficult to keep track of these things when Jeeves is swallowing you down.

When the last wave of pleasure had coursed through me, I opened my eyes and hastily released my death grip on Jeeves' hair. His eyes were still closed, though not so much in concentration as self-congratulatory Jeevesness . He pulled away and let slip my still-twitching member. For a moment, a thin strand of white fluid connected the tip of my cock to his lips; when it snapped in half, Jeeves blinked his eyes open, reached for his handkerchief in his trouser pocket, and patted his mouth clean as if it were nothing more unusual than dealing with the soup course.

I could have come off straight away once more, if I hadn't already been spent.

"Good Lord, Jeeves," I finally said into the heavy silence that had taken up residence in the sitting room. "That was— Is there a word that means topping, corking, brilliant, and boomps-a-daisy all rolled into one?"

"None comes to mind, sir," Jeeves said, tucking his handkerchief back in his pocket. My gaze followed his movements, and I saw that the front of Jeeves' black trousers were tented most awfully. Bally carnal sympathy, I mused.

"Allow me to return the favour, Jeeves." I reached down for his flies, practically unseating myself in the process, but Jeeves rose smoothly to his feet and turned away from me.

"Thank you, sir, but that is not necessary."

He began to float away, but I held onto his wrist like a tether. "You've gone to great lengths, Jeeves, to teach me the importance of reciprocation in these circs. Surely I'd be a cad of the first order if I did not see to my bedmate's pleasure, what?"

Jeeves looked down at my grasping hand with that icy stare of his. "In actual practice, sir, it would be the recommended course of action. However, within the scope of our lessons, you need not be concerned with such things."

"But Jeeves—" I stood, but was promptly cut off.

"It would be a waste of time, sir, to instruct you in the giving of oral pleasure to a male," Jeeves said, tucking a stray strand of black hair behind his ear. "If your lovers are to be female, as you have implied, then I cannot provide the proper substitute for that particular lesson. Now if you will excuse me, sir." He trickled into the kitchen in the blink of an eye while I stood rooted to the spot.

Finally I managed to do up my flies and light a cigarette. Jeeves was correct, of course. If I were to pursue the likes of Bobbie Wickham, et. al., there would be little need for me to know the specifics of a chap's body. But when that chap was Jeeves, and his cockstand was so evident in his trousers, and his hair was so incredibly mussed— Well. It seemed to me to be a different sort of animal.

I regained my seat and smoked a gasper or two, staring at the kitchen door. What in the world could Jeeves be doing in there after each of our lessons, I wondered. Did he take his mind off his body's urgent cries for attention by polishing the silver? Or did he perhaps seek refuge in the dark pantry and pull himself off into his dirty handkerchief?

"Oh, good Lord," I muttered to myself, crossing my legs to ease the pressure once again building in me. But it was impossible, when one's mind wanders into territory like that, to remain unaffected. The thought of Jeeves reaching his peak like that, biting the heel of his hand to keep from making a sound, made me harden instantly.

As a sort of experiment, I tried to imagine Bobbie Wickham in the pantry with her hand up her skirt. And failed miserably. What would she need with a pantry anyway? If any filthy self-pleasure was to occur, it would be Jeeves', I concluded. It stood to reason. It . . . .

I stubbed out my cig. and sighed. It was official. I was lusting after my valet. My body wanted him like a whatsit wants a thingummy. And why shouldn't it? Jeeves was as deft at the tender arts as he was at all other arts, and he was but one door away at the mo'.

Resolved to see the thing through, I stood and strode to the kitchen door, prepared to swing it open and find my man biting his hand and stroking himself in the pantry. I would take to my knees as he had, I told myself, and give him as good as he gave. I was a novice at this, yes, but I would approach the thing with all the aplomb that Jeeves had taught me thus far.

I swung open the door. And found Jeeves polishing the silver at the table.

"Is there something you require, sir?" he asked, laying aside a bright soup spoon. His hair was once more coiffed, and his whole appearance was that of a perfectly pressed valet.

"Erm, that is, well." I waved a hand. "Carry on, Jeeves."

"As you say, sir."

For the next few days, I admit I avoided Jeeves like the rat-borne illnesses of old. It's a rummy thing, when you know you want something very badly, something that doesn't actually relish the thought of you in return. For Jeeves, these lessons of ours were nothing more than a very thorough education for the young master. A few sympathetic bodily reactions aside, the entire experience appeared to have left Jeeves unmoved. And it seemed he never would be moved.

That is, had it not been for an evening spent drinking like a fish at the Drones.

I hadn't set out to become three (or fourish) sheets to the wind that night, but it turned out that old Boko had decided to throw a birthday fete at the last minute. It wasn't his birthday, but that didn't stop the chaps down at the Drones from joining in wholeheartedly, and to be honest, I thought I could use the distraction. Pondering all these imponderables in re: Jeeves was taking its toll on my mind.

I toddled home at a late hour, and called for Jeeves as I entered before I could even remember that I was supposed to be avoiding him. Luckily, as I was met with nothing but silence in the dark flat, I recalled this was his evening off. I dropped my hat and stick in the general direction of the hall closet and set about making myself a nightcap. It seemed just the thing.

I was attempting to catch an ice cube which was skittering for freedom at the edge of the buffet table when I heard the front door creak open.

"Jeeves, is that you?" I called even as the bally ice cube slipped from my hand and disappeared forever under a coffee table.

A tall Jeeves-shaped shadow appeared in the sitting room and answered, "Yes, sir. I had thought you'd be abed by this time. Do you require any assistance?"

"None that I cannot muster on my own, my good man." I closed my fist around a whole new set of cubes in the ice bucket and plunked the lot of them into a glass with a triumphant cry. "Would you like a drink, Jeeves? I'm pouring one for myself." I took up the bottle of brandy and turned with the intention of showing him what was on offer, but the man had shimmered almost directly behind me without my notice, so we ended up colliding rather badly. It was only due to Jeeves' legendary reflexes that the bottle was saved from the same fate as that first ice cube.

"Perhaps I should get that for you, sir," he said.

"Oh. Oh, yes, quite. You never imbibe anyway, isn't that right, Jeeves?" I distinctly remembered him telling me so ages ago. But now, standing so close to him, I could smell the sweet scent of sherry on his lips. At least I thought it was his lips; it couldn't have been mine, as I never touched the stuff. "Jeeves," I asked slowly, "have you been imbibing tonight?"

He dropped his gaze and side-stepped me neatly to place the decanter back on the table. "Yes, sir, though I do so rarely. There was a fete at the Junior Ganymede and I was expected to share in the toasts." His story seemed solid, except I noticed his stalwart hands were not arranging the glasses and ice bucket with their usual swiftness. Jeeves was slow enough to be mistaken for a mere mortal, by Jove.

"It looks to me like you've had more than a few toasts," I said. His eyes, bright and blue in the little bit of light that came through the window from the streetlights, glared at me.

"Am I mistaken in thinking this was my free evening, sir?" he asked with not a little ice in his voice and even more in my cocktail glass.

"Yes, I only meant—"

"And am I mistaken in thinking I am allowed to do whatever I desire on my free evening, sir?" he continued.

"Of course, Jeeves, it's just—"

"Then you might consider letting the matter lie, sir." Jeeves held the finished drink out to me, and I took it out of habit.

I regarded the glass in my hand then, in a strange gesture of apology, offered it right back to my valet. He quirked an eyebrow, but finally took the b. and s. from me, draining it in one long swallow.

"You probably needed it more, what?" I said softly. Jeeves gave a little near-smile as he set the glass down, and then I kissed him. Really kissed him, grabbing at his collar and the whole bit.

"Sir?" he panted against my mouth when we broke for breath.

I knew I was making a mistake. I had been drinking, and so had Jeeves, and I wanted him so badly I would have done any number of stupid things to have him. I was supposed to be distancing myself, dash it, and here I was throwing caution to the w. and doing whatever I liked. One part of my addled brain kept repeating, "I can worry about all that in the morning." And the other part said, "Sounds like a foolish plan but I've had much too much drink, so what do I know?"

So that settled that. "I'd like another lesson tonight, Jeeves," I said with a lick of my dry lips, "if you are so inclined."

I don't remember clearly what happened next. The memories come to me in little flashes: seeing Jeeves' tanned hand pressed against the whitewashed hallway wall to keep us both balanced, his mouth on mine, suit coats crumpled on the carpet like deflated gentlemen, my fingers scrabbling blindly for my bedroom light switch, Jeeves' unearthly growl to leave it be. I remember hitting the mattress and cracking my melon on the headboard, but I took no notice of whatever injury I might have sustained from it. Jeeves had enough presence of mind to make some inquiry, but I think I waved him off with another kiss.

I became tangled a bit in my waistcoat when Jeeves tore it from my shoulders, and I reached to do the same for him, but he batted my hands away. "We needn't disrobe completely, sir," he said in a low voice in my ear.

"Oh?" I said, and even to my inebriated ears I sounded like quite the idiot. But then Jeeves took hold of my hips and ground his body against mine, and I felt his cockstand against my thigh. My own erection was rubbed between our bellies, and the feeling was so perfectly topping that I forgot how idiotic I might sound. "Oh!"

"I want you to come off while grinding against me," Jeeves whispered, his teeth traveling down the length of my ear. "Take your pleasure as you will. Let me feel it in your limbs, let me hear it from your mouth."

"Oh, Lord. Jeeves." I took hold of his shoulders and pulled him even closer to me, wriggling to position his cock in the best possible way against mine. He hissed through his teeth and the world spun suddenly: instead of lying on our sides, Jeeves was now atop of me, staring down into my face, his dark hair impossibly mussed and hanging in his eyes. "You're a mad thing," I said, kissing him soundly.

We rocked together, our hips moving in some primal way that even my body knew. Jeeves was red-hot even through the layers of wool trousers, and the warm length of him seemed to be melting me, dissolving me into nothing more than steamy air. Jeeves, for once, seemed equally affected. His thrusts were erratic and frenzied, as if he believed the scenario could end at a moment's notice.

"Jeeves, please," I begged, "tell me you're close to the edge."

"Yes, I am." He licked at my ear and wrapped my tie round his fist.

"I won't finish until you do," I promised. "Please, please finish soon. Right now, here, against me. I want to feel you, Jeeves." I was babbling, delirious with need, my fingers combing through his wild hair, grasping at his creased and ruined shirt. I noticed his arrow collar had come loose, leaving his neck bare, and I pressed kisses to the skin there. "I want to feel you."

With an animal snarl, Jeeves pulled us as close as two people could be while still separated by their disordered clothing. I was crushed against his barrel chest, our legs tangling, our hips thrust together as if life depended upon it. I felt the muscles under my hands bunch, then spasm, then shake like the dickens. And then I felt Jeeves come off, warm and damp against my cockstand through the layers of cloth. And that was all it took to wring my own peak from me. I can only say that it was a few fleeting moments of complete and utter ecstasy, and then I drifted in a sort of over-heated, panting delirium.

I was roused from this state when I registered a sort of cool draft over my sweaty face. I cracked open my eyes to see that Jeeves was no longer with me. I turned my head and spied him sitting on the edge of my bed, trying desperately to put right the studs of his shirt, it looked like. I could only see his broad back from where I was, of course, but with his arms working in that manner, he could only be doing one thing.

"Jeeves." I lifted a weak hand and patted his back. "Just sleep for now, old thing."

"I will, sir," he said in the soupiest tone that's ever trickled forth from the paragon. "I need only recover my collar and I shall retire to my room."

"What? No. No reason to worry about that. Just lay here beside me, Jeeves," I said sleepily as my hand rubbed at the patch of empty bedding next to me. I wanted him to be still for once, and propriety be damned. We'd face it all in the morning.

"A very generous offer, sir, but tonight's lesson is at an end. Good night, sir." And Jeeves rocketed from the master bedroom without looking back. I gaped at the suddenly empty space where he had been, my mind slowly clawing its way up to speed. My hand trembled on top of the bedclothes, and somehow or other my fingers found his missing collar. He'd exited without it.

"Jeeves," I said quietly, curling my hand with the still-warm collar to my chest. I thought to chase after him, demand to know exactly what had just happened, but my head was pounding and the bed was swaying like a ship at sea. I closed my eyes for a mo' just to get my bearings, but when I opened them again, it was morning and I had slept through the night.

I fastened my gaze on the stiff collar I held crushed in my now-slack fist just a few inches in front of my face. I knew I had about four or five minutes before Jeeves came in with the morning refresher; he was devilishly good at knowing when I awoke. Four or five minutes to understand what we'd done last night, then.

In under three minutes, I had the thing concluded. I was no longer lusting after my valet. I was in love with him. I wanted him in my bed, certainly, but I also wanted to awaken pressed against his sleep-softened skin. I wanted to kiss his lips, but I also wanted those lips to profess his undying devotion to me. The sight of his mussed hair drove me mad with desire, but so did the sight of the same hair perfectly combed. Last night, I knew, was not just the drunken fumblings of two indifferent men. To me, it had been the most wonderful night of my heretofore lonely existence. And perhaps, just perhaps, Jeeves could be persuaded to share that sentiment.

The bedroom door cracked open, and Jeeves materialised with his special morning-after concoction.

I thought it best if I got right into the thing. "Jeeves—" I croaked.

"Sir, before you exert yourself needlessly, I would appreciate it if you listened to me for the moment it will take you to drink this." He offered the reddish drink to me, and I seemed to have no choice but to take it and begin gulping. Jeeves continued, "I do hope you realise, sir, that last night concludes our lessons in the amourous arts."

With the mouthful of spicy restorative, I couldn't voice my protests, but my raised brows and wide eyes said it for me. Jeeves took this in and nodded.

"It is my feeling that you have absorbed all I have to teach you in this arena, sir. You are now adept in several important areas and will make a very serviceable lover."

I finished swallowing my drink. "But I—"

"The next act for you to experience is sexual intercourse, and it is my understanding that you should reserve that for a lady whom you cherish, sir."

"But dash it—"

"You will surely remember, sir, how you pointed out at the beginning of our lessons that I am no woman. However, I am certain that your newfound knowledge will see you through satisfactorily."

"But—"

"Sir, I must insist that the matter be dropped," Jeeves said sharply. "If needs must, I will hand over my letter of resignation."

That stopped me in my tracks. It wasn't sporting, if you ask me, to use a threat as drastic as that. Jeeves' resignation is not to be taken lightly. He has only had cause to leave my service once, and we both agreed after the matter was sorted that we preferred it to never happen again. Well, we didn't actually say words to that effect, but it was clear to me. So I sat up in bed, speechless, wanting nothing more than to thresh out this whole bally matter, and biting my tongue instead.

My baby blues must have communicated something of my anguish, for Jeeves added, "I do not wish to resign, sir. Please do not force my hand." And then he took the glass from my nerveless fingers and vanished like he always does.


	2. triedunture: Fic: Jeeves and the Lessons on Love (Part 2)

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[fic](http://triedunture.livejournal.com/tag/fic), [jeeves](http://triedunture.livejournal.com/tag/jeeves)  
  
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_ **Fic: Jeeves and the Lessons on Love (Part 2)** _   


It's the rummiest thing, telegrams. You go for years of your life dreading the appearance of the blasted bits of paper and then suddenly one comes that you're actually cheered by. That is, I often receive cryptic missives from my good and deserving Aunt Dahlia, and they often disrupt my comfortable, quiet life and turn it upside down, and this newest telegram was no different. But I welcomed this specimen as it gave me a chance to tell Jeeves I would be making the journey to Brinkley.

"You needn't accompany me, Jeeves," I said as I smoked a nervous cig. later that afternoon. "It will only be for a day or two. I'm sure I'll manage."

"Very good, sir," he said in soupy tones as he prepared my luggage.

Truth be told, I thought it wise to separate self from Jeeves for the time being. My head was awhirl with all he had declared to me that morning, and all I had not declared yet. The long solo drive from the metrop. to the arms of my favourite aunt gave me hours to think, but try as I might, I could only come up with three decisive conclusions:

1\. I loved Jeeves.  
2\. He now refused to touch me as he once had.  
3\. Dash it all!

I wiped a bit of moisture from my map (driving through those misty valleys, what?) and considered these facts. I felt not a little pathetic; was I really falling for the first person who'd kissed and stroked me, or was it just my stupid and naive brain making mountains out of molehills? Maybe I didn't really love Jeeves at all, I thought. Maybe I was just a bit desperate for someone to hold and be held by in return. Having never gone to bed (or to the piano bench) with anyone else, I couldn't know how I'd feel.

That was the unhappy gist I'd arrived at when I pulled the two-seater up the drive of Brinkley Court. Aunt Dahlia greeted me warmly and explained why my presence was necessary. "My old friend Geraldine Kingsolver is here with her young daughter, Portia. Dreadfully dull girl, you understand. I know not the first thing to do with her. I needed someone her own age about the place so that evenings wouldn't be so damned awkward. We can't even play bridge without a fourth, you know."

"Dash it, Aunt Dahlia, what about Angela and Uncle Tom? Surely they—"

"They have flown the coop! Gone to Bath to take the cure, though I suspect they have gone to be away from Gerladine's spawn. Oh, I'll never understand how these children turn out the way they do. Present company excluded, of course, unless you're thinking of running off, in which case it goes double for you, young blot."

Seeing as Brinkley was now my haven for the running I was doing, I had no choice but to acquiesce to my aged relative. She was right; Portia Kingsolver turned out to be horrid. From the moment I shook her limp hand, I could see why Aunt Dahlia had called in the troops, so to speak. A gentleman doesn't like to disparage a young lady, especially one he doesn't know particularly well, but there are just some things you can't overlook, what? Portia K. was the sort of girl who turned conversations to dust.

If you commented on how much you were looking forward to Anatole's cooking, she would add, "If you could see what a cook does in his kitchen, you'd never want to eat again. I watched someone pluck a chicken once, you know." And then she'd go into grisly detail about the poor fowl.

If you pointed out how lovely the gardens were, she would scoff at the placement of the daffodils.

If you smiled, she would frown.

In short, a pill of the worst order. Dinner was a grueling affair, but I sallied through as best I could for Aunt Dahlia's sake. With self acting as a conversation partner for the younger Kingsolver, my aunt was free to speak with her bosom friend, the elder. However, Miss Kingsolver dominated the conversation so completely that I found my attention drifting to the underbutler who stood at attention against the wall behind her. I'd never noticed the chap before, but I was fixated by the sight of his shirt stud which had somehow slipped its hole. The Brinkley staff was always in tip-top shape, and this small breach of decorum was very unusual. I kept wracking my brain for a way to alert the poor cove to the loose stud so that he could repair it before Seppings or someone else saw, but my brain couldn't come up with the goods. Instead, I tried desperately to catch the underbutler's gaze but only succeeded in looking like a madman with a wandering eye.

When the last course was cleared away, my aunt suggested Miss Kingsolver and I go for a stroll of the grounds. Portia seemed to like the idea, and I found myself leading her round the moonlit paths and fragrant rosebushes. The girl clung to my arm and continued expounding on something or other, when suddenly she said, "You seem distracted, Mr Wooster. Is something the matter?"

"What? Erm, no, not at all."

"You don't seem able to pay attention to what I'm saying," she accused.

"I do apologise," I said. "I am trying. It's been quite a day for me."

"Oh?" She gave me a knowing smirk, very similar to how I imagine a shark regards a tasty sea lion. The next thing I knew, she was backing me into a nook in the hedge until the back of my head was poked by branches and leaves were tickling my collar. The shark look was not leaving her visage.

"I say—"

"There is something about you," Portia said, her claw-like hands plucking at my white tie. "My mother had told me that, for all intents and purposes, you would be quite a bore. But I find that you exude a sort of unconscious sensuality. I enjoyed the nervous way you wouldn't look into my eyes for more than a moment at dinner. Quite coy of you, Bertram."

Well, it seemed that I had absorbed some of Jeeves' lessons after all. I looked down at her upturned face and considered my options. She was a pill, of that there was no doubt. But she was also possessed a corking set of lips, bright, wide-set eyes, long lashes, and damask skin. All told, she was very pretty. And if I wanted to try my hand at kissing a non-Jeevesian person, this was my chance.

I lifted a hand to her bobbed hair, and she shut her eyes with a purr. "May I?" I asked.

"Oh, yes," she breathed. I bent down and kissed her as best I could. I did all the right things in all the right order; I held her close but not too tight, I was enthusiastic but did not slobber, I made sure it was everything a kiss should be. And yes, it was pleasant but . . .

But it didn't make my heart jump in my chest like it did when I kissed Jeeves.

I broke the kiss and blinked down at Portia. She was still looking very Great White to me. "Bertie," she said, winding her arms round my neck, "come to my room tonight. Just for one night. That's all I ask."

I swallowed. "I don't think we should," I said quietly.

"We won't be caught. I'm very good at being quiet." She grinned wider and scratched her nails down the back of my neck. I shivered; it would be so easy to take this girl tonight, but I just didn't have it in me. The thought of making love to her made my stomach sink to my feet.

"I'm sorry," I said, breaking free from her grasp. "I can't. G-goodnight." I half-ran, half-stumbled back to the house, which was now quiet and dark. I was almost to my room when I nearly collided with someone coming round the corner.

"Oh! Terribly sorry," I said, then squinted. It was the underbutler with the loose shirt stud. And yes, a quick glance showed me it was still undone.

"My fault entirely, Mr Wooster," he said in a rush. From his accent, I guessed he was a Scot, but it was a very light brogue, very pleasing.

"I don't think I've seen you at Brinkley before. What's your name?"

"Tompkins, sir. I'm new." He gave a small bow, then hesitated before saying, "They tell me your man did not accompany you, sir."

I sighed. "No, no he did not."

"Would you like me to see to you before bed, Mr Wooster?"

I looked the chappie up and down in a discreet manner, wondering if he was asking what I thought he was asking. He was small and dark, with a wiry frame and a thin face. I wouldn't call him handsome, not like Jeeves is, anyway, but this Tompkins wasn't anything to sneeze at either. He had lovely green eyes and a noble nose, all of which I found I liked. But none of this gave me any clues as to whether or not he was interested in tucking me into bed or joining me there. I decided to see it through.

"If you wouldn't mind, that would be topping. I could use some steady hands to pour me a fortifying brandy."

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir," Tompkins said, and guided me the rest of the way to my room. There, he found my pajamas and laid them out before turning to the sidebar and pouring me a goodish measure.

"Tompkins, there's something I've been meaning to say to you ever since dinner," I said, lighting one of my gaspers.

The underbutler turned to face me, his eyes wide, the drink poised on a salver in his hand. "Yes, Mr Wooster?"

I pointed to his chest. "Your stud's come undone."

The man looked down at his shirtfront in disbelief, and then let out a high-pitched laugh. "Oh dear. So you're right, Mr Wooster. I— I'm so sorry, I thought—" His pale cheek turned bright pink, and I gave him an indulgent smile.

"No harm done. Here." I stuck my cigarette safely between my lips and reached out to fix the shirt stud for the poor chap. A little finagling and the dratted thing was back in its proper place. "All better," I declared.

"Thank you, Mr Wooster," said Tompkins. His gaze fastened on my map and then dropped it to the floor. "Shall I turn down the bed now?"

Golly, I mused as I watched his blush intensify, after a lifetime of having no romances to really speak of, I run into two interested parties in one night. It just goes to show. Now there was no mistaking this Tompkins. He still hadn't handed over the brandy, he was so overcome. Suddenly I felt like a very lecherous weasel. Here was a servant I didn't know from Adam, and he thought I was on the prowl, so to speak!

"Thank you." I took the brandy from the salver in his shaky hand. "That will be fine."

As he got the sheet and bedspread pulled down into their evening position, Tompkins asked, "Is there any other office your man Jeeves normally performs for you, Mr Wooster?" He straightened and looked at me with a burning gaze. "Anything at all?"

They must teach all good servants that materialising wheeze at the servants' academy, because Tompkins appeared right before me in the blink of an eye.

"Erm—" I began.

"I'm sorry if I'm being too familiar, Mr Wooster," he grasped the drink in my hand and set it aside, then looked up at me through his long lashes, "but I saw you run away from Miss Kingsolver in the garden. I was watching from the upstairs window."

"Yes, well." I took a deep draw from my cig. "You've heard the girl speak. Wouldn't you run?"

"I would, sir." He gave me a very small smile.

Oh to hell with it, I thought. And I kissed him.

He wasn't ready for it like Portia had been; he stiffened, then melted, then brought his hands up to card through my hair. His mouth opened easily to me, and I was allowed to taste him deeply. This kiss affected me more than the one with Portia. My body, anyway, was more affected. It still felt wrong, but the primitive part of me, the part that likes to howl at the night sky after a few drinks, couldn't get enough of it.

Tompkins' hand dropped from my hair to cup my hardness through my trousers, and I gasped a little in his mouth. Then my hand, the one sans cig., was grabbed and brought to the front of his black uniform trousers. I won't lie; it felt absolutely wonderful. But it wasn't like Jeeves, who knew my body better than I knew it myself. It wasn't like Jeeves, who tasted different, better, more like Jeeves should. It wasn't Jeeves. Simple as that.

I pushed Tompkins away as gently as I could.

"I'm sorry," I said. "You should go."

"Are you certain?" He blinked up at me. "I could—"

"Yes, I'm sure. I would enjoy whatever you have in mind like billy-o, you understand. Only," I sighed, "I'm in love with someone. In any other circs., I wouldn't hesitate to agree to your plans, but I can't. Not now." I stubbed out my gasper in a nearby tray.

"Oh." Tompkins smoothed down his mussed hair and frowned. "You won't tell Mr Seppings or Mrs Travers, will you?"

"Oh, good Lord, no. Your secret is safe with me, if mine can expect the same treatment."

"Of course. I promise." And with that, he bid me a goodnight and left me to my lonely bed.

Well, after a night like that, it should be no surprise that I left early at 11 o'clock the next morning to go back to London. Aunt Dahlia would have forced me to stay longer, but the Kingsolvers had inexplicably cut their visit short, as Portia had supposedly developed some sort of stomach bug. Tompkins, too, was nowhere to be seen, but that is not so unusual for servants. So after flinging my single piece of luggage into the two-seater, I made good my escape.

It occurred to me that it would be no easy task, seducing Jeeves. All the lessons I'd learned about smouldering eyes and carefully placed hands on elbows and the smalls of backs were straight from Jeeves himself. He would be able to recognize instantly what I had in mind, and if I knew anything about the art of seduction, I knew it wasn't meant to be so bally obvious. I would have to tread lightly round Jeeves and use my wits. Jeeves wasn't like any beazel; golly, he wasn't like any other person on earth. I would have to approach him in a very different way.

I arrived home to find Jeeves putting away some tinned goods in the kitchen.

"Good afternoon, sir," he said, turning to greet me with a bow. "Will you be taking luncheon now or—?"

"Jeeves, do you still wish to travel to Hong Kong?" I asked. I leaned a hip against the counter and fiddled with a cigarette in one hand.

"Sir?"

"Hong Kong. I believe you mentioned it once. Would you still like to go?"

Jeeves placed a tin of what looked like beans on the kitchen table. He brushed his hands down his front; he was wearing his white apron. His hands hadn't looked at all dirty to me, so the gesture must have been made to buy himself some time to formulate a response.

"It's been nearly a year since I suggested that particular destination as a holiday possibility, sir. If I recall, you were most adamant in your opposition."

"Oh, was I?" The cigarette got its light after all; I was too nervous not to smoke. Jeeves waited patiently. "Well, things change, Jeeves. I was mulling it over on the way back to the city, and if you're still eager for H. K., then I'm all for it. You of all people should be able to visit the places you want to go."

"Sir, did something happen at Brinkley?" Jeeves asked.

"What? Oh, no! No, of course not. Why do you ask?" I had never been very good at telling white lies. My flush was giving it away, I just knew it.

He returned to stacking tins in the cupboard, his back to me. "Forgive me, sir. I merely wondered if some unpleasantness had transpired at Brinkley to make you think of a far-off place."

I laid the gasper in the ash tray on the table. "I only thought you would enjoy it, Jeeves," I said softly, and then exited the kitchen without saying another word. My hands were shaking; I had spoken so plainly, so boldly. Surely that would give Jeeves something to think about. Soften him up, I mean to say. Get him used to the idea of the young master's tender pash.

I was shucking my travelling clothes in my bedroom when Jeeves appeared suddenly. In the full length mirror's reflection, I could see he was still wearing the apron. Left the kitchen in a hurry, then. I fiddled my tie undone and asked, "Yes, Jeeves?"

"Sir, why do you wish to send me to Hong Kong?" His face was so bally stuffed-frog and blank mask, I couldn't tell for a second what he was on about.

Then it dawned; he had thought the proposed holiday was going to be a solitary one, not a joint one as I had intended. "Well, Jeeves, I didn't—"

"If I'm required to leave the flat at any time, you are perfectly within your rights to request that, sir," he continued. "An indulgent holiday is not necessary."

"No, Jeeves, you misunderstand." I paused. "Wait a mo'. Why do you think I want you out of the flat?"

Jeeves coughed into his fist. "It was merely a conclusion I had drawn, sir."

"Well, it's incorrect. I was suggesting a journey to China for the both of us, as you had originally envisioned."

"Nearly a year ago, sir?"

"Yes, nearly a year ago. Sorry it took so long to wrap my mind round the idea, but there it is. Do you want to go, or has some other exotic locale caught your eye?" I locked gazes with Jeeves in the mirror as I unbuttoned my waistcoat and shrugged out of it. He seemed out of sorts, or as out of sorts as Jeeves can seem.

He furrowed his brow and said, "Allow me to research a suitable destination, sir. Hong Kong may not be pleasant this time of year."

"Very good, Jeeves." I watched him exit with a frown. That certainly wasn't the cheery response I had hoped to garner from the man. The Viking spirit in him loved travel; by all accounts, Jeeves should have been considerably chuffed. Instead he had greeted the idea with suspicion. Why?

That question would be answered by a telegram I found quite by accident while rifling through Jeeves' things.

Oh, all right. It's not the _pruex_ thing to do, rifling through a man's personal effects. But Jeeves had left the flat for the afternoon to do something or other and I reasoned that if my seduction were to have any measure of success, I would need to do some detective work. So I tip-toed into Jeeves' lair and looked at a few papers. That were in his bureau drawer. That had been locked. That I had found a spare key for in the kitchen.

At any rate, the telegram in question was dated the morning I had driven back from Brinkley. It ran:

_JEEVES NEW UB SNIFFING ROUND BWW STOP MIGHT WANT YOUR POSITION STOP YOURS PS STOP_

I wrinkled my nose at it. I hate this whole deciphering business, and telegrams are absolutely caked in the stuff. All right, the BWW was easy enough; that was yours truly. But what "new ub" would be sniffing me? It took several minutes to conclude ub stood for underbutler.

"Oh!" I cried. "Jeeves thinks Tompkins is . . ."

That took an even longer time to figure out. The tone of the missive indicated that Jeeves should fear for his position, but Jeeves and I both knew that was complete rot. It was be madness to replace Jeeves with a wet-behind-the-earsunderbutler. Jeeves was too clever to think that.

Oh. Jeeves was much too clever. He would know it wasn't a job Tomkins was after.

"Good Lord!" I hastily placed the telegram back in its drawer and slammed the thing shut. Jeeves must have assumed I had begun an affair with that blasted underbutler , that I had tried to shuttle Jeeves off to China so I could seduce the chap in peace. Well, that was just not, not, what's the word I want? True! It was just not true.

And furthermore, who the devil was PS? And why would he stick his nose into my doings thusly?

Well, one can't be expected to solve all the mysteries in one day. I fumbled with the drawer key, just about to turn it in the lock, when a soft cough sounded from behind me. I froze, unwilling to turn and face judgment.

"Sir," Jeeves began, "are you attempting to go through my personal letters?"

"Erm." I saw how hopeless the sitch appeared. There I was, kneeling right in front of the man's bureau, key in hand. Guilty as sin, as it were. "Would you credit it if I said I was looking for matches, Jeeves?"

"No, sir."

"Well then." I stood and turned. "Yes, I attempted to go through your personal letters. What's more, I was successful. Not my proudest moment, of course, but I do think I had good reason."

"That reason being, sir?" Jeeves regarded me with that steely look of his.

I bristled. I mean to say, positively porpentine-like. Here was the man that had practically shoved me in the direction of anyone but himself when it came to warm caresses, and now he was singing quite a different tune. "You were acting strangely, Jeeves. Much like an ass. Now that I've read the telegram you received yesterday that reports on my movements, I see where the misunderstanding arose."

Jeeves took two steps closer, which, in the confines of that small room, brought him nearly nose-to-nose with me. "And what misunderstanding might that be, sir?" he growled.

I tapped a self-righteous finger against his chest; normally I wouldn't make such a gesture against my valet, but, well, he was giving me the pip. "For one, you think I'm potty for an underbutler at Brinkley, and that's not what happened at all! And even if it had," I seethed, "I don't see how it's any business of yours."

"It is my _business_, sir, to ensure your safety and comfort, and I cannot do that if you insist on conducting affairs with household staff." This was said in a calm, low tone, but I detected a dangerous hint in Jeeves' words.

"I am not conducting—!" I clamped my mouth shut and took a deep breath. Yelling my head off at Jeeves wouldn't solve anything, and it certainly wouldn't help my case when I made my declarations of love to him. I had to say the right thing. "Put this Tompkins from your mind, Jeeves. I have."

The anger seemed to leech out of the both of us then, and we changed from the angry, puffing bulls of mere moments ago back to ourselves. I dropped my finger from where it was still stabbing Jeeves in the chest and sighed.

"You were supposed to find a lady, sir, who suited your needs," Jeeves said quietly.

"I tried my best, old thing. So did she, for that matter." I shrugged. "I don't suppose your man on the inside, PS, told you about that whole failure, what?"

"No, sir."

"Well, the less said of it, the better." I ducked round Jeeves so I wasn't crowded up against his dresser. "I'm sorry, Jeeves. I shouldn't have gone through your letters." I left his lair shaken and feeling not a little like a lout.

I went to the Drones, where I stuck my head in a snifter and didn't surface until someone tapped my shoulder. I looked up to find Gussie Fink-Nottle, of all people.

"Gussie! You of all people." I gestured to the bar stool beside me, and he sat. "What brings you to the metrop.?"

"Hello, Bertie. Orange juice, please." This last bit he directed to the bar man. "I'm here," he lisped to me, "to procure a very rare flame-coloured newt. A female, on top of all that!"

He grinned like a boy who'd been handed a whole tray of sweets, and I offered my congratulations accordingly, as any old school chum would. But my usual Wooster spirit wasn't there, if you get my meaning.

"What's the matter, Bertie? You sound like you've lost your last friend," Gussie asked.

"Well, the thing is—" I stopped and considered. I knew I couldn't tell Gussie about the whole trouble with Jeeves. Old school chums aside, this wasn't the sort of news one dropped on a chap. But I thought I could cleverly mask the more improper details in the telling; I was absolutely miserable, after all, and needed a friendly ear to pour my sadness into. "There's this, um, girl, Gussie," I began.

"Oh!" he squeaked. "Bertie, I should be extending my congratulations as well, what?"

"That's the problem! There's nothing to congratulate. Though I'd give anything for there to be," I said. "You see, this lady was kind enough to, erm, teach me the finer points of kissing and such, and then—"

"You're joking!" Gussie sputtered. "No lady would do that! At least, no lady I know. I don't know this lady, do I?"

"Don't be an ass, Gussie. It's a long story, but the gist of it is that yes, this lady is a lady. And she taught me some of the finer points, as I said, but with the express understanding that our emotions would not take part. Do you follow?"

"Golly. Yes, I suppose."

"Well, now this girl says the lessons are over and I should find myself another lady to, well, to be with. In that sense. Gussie, please don't squirm like that, you're drawing attention!" I hissed.

"I'm sorry, Bertie, it's just that this talk is making me dashed uncomfortable," Gussie whined as he adjusted his glasses.

"It's not all that bad. Remember how you were with Madeline? Before the engagement was called off?"

"Yes." It wasn't a sore spot for Gussie, now that he had his cook to woo. "I remember."

"That's what this girl pushed me to find, with someone who wasn't her." I sighed. "But I couldn't do it, Gussie. A few other ladies who would have fit the bill nicely popped up, but I found I just wanted the first girl. My plan is to woo her, you see, using everything she taught me."

"And it hasn't gone well?"

"It's gone terribly. At first I thought this girl was jealous of the others who might have replaced her, but then I found out she was just pipped because the one was a servant. In this day and age, can you believe it? My uncle married a barmaid, you know, and I had no objection at all. And when my cousin married an actress, I was the first to buy a fish slice," I said.

Gussie chewed on that. "So this girl of yours is very high-society?"

"Well, not exactly." It was my turn to squirm. "She happens to be a member of the serving class as well, but a fine and upstanding example of a human being in general. That is to say, she stands alone! And I don't bally well care if she's a maid or a waitress or what have you; I love her all the same."

Gussie sipped at his o. j. and regarded me from behind his thick spectacles. "There are several subspecies of newts that will mate just fine with each other, you know. They may not be an exact match, but they're close enough and can make for some very interesting cross-breeding experiments. Of course, one must be careful to—"

"Gussie," I interrupted, "what does this have to do with the price of china in Brie?"

"All I'm saying," Gussie huffed, "is that these mixed-up pairs are fine. Until another newt comes along that's a more perfect match for one of them. And then that newt will toddle off, leaving the poor old first newt alone. What if your serving class girl is afraid that you'll cast her aside as soon as you see someone of your stature walking down the street? She's probably just saving herself and you a boatload of trouble."

"But I would never!" I protested. "There's no other newt, I mean, um, person for me."

"Your girl doesn't know that," Gussie said, gulping the last of his juice. "If only newts could talk."

"You're absolutely right! I need to tell hi— Erm, her. I need to put my foot down and plainly state, 'Hidebound restrictions be damned! You're the one for me.'" I sprang from my seat. "Thank you, Gussie. You've been a real pal." I clapped him on the shoulder and finished the last of my snifter.

"You might want to check with Jeeves to see if he has a good wheeze as well," Gussie said.

I paled, I'm sure, but managed to keep my grin plastered to my face. "Yes, I will."

My journey back to the flat was a meandering one. I made a stop in a bookshop in Bond Street, thinking that I should purchase something for Jeeves, a sort of olive branch, if you will. But each and every volume looked too hulking, too foreign to me. I roamed up and down the endless rows of bookshelves, unable to select a single book that said exactly what I wanted to say. Until I found the collected works of one Bertram W. Wooster far in the back, among the rest of the W's.

I suppose you wouldn't know how it feels to see your own book in a shop if you're not a published author; I'll tell you that I, for one, find the experience a dashed unpleasant one. It's jolly well embarrassing to see them there, lined up on shelves in the public eye. It's even worse when you see someone thumbing through a copy on a park bench or in a crowded train carriage. I always have the skin-crawling sensation that the reader or the bookshop owner will stroll up to me and demand to know why I wrote such-and-such this way, or why I didn't include this or that detail. Nerve-wracking, that's what the whole business is.

However, on this afternoon I did pick up the copy of my collected works, handsomely bound in green leather with my name embossed in gold on the front cover. I flicked through one or two chapters, readily recalling the real stories behind each piece of almost-fiction. My descriptions of Jeeves especially tugged my mouth into a smile: here he was swooping to my rescue, and here he was sweeping into my flat for the first time, and here he was coughing and scheming and generally being the Jeeves I knew.

On impulse, I bought the book and used the shopkeeper's pen to scribble a small inscription on the frontispiece. Maybe it was a selfish gift, quite akin to giving someone a portrait of yourself, but it said exactly what I wanted. Well, I'd written the bally thing, so it only follows!

With the book wrapped in brown paper and shoved under my arm, I walked back to Berkeley a happier man. I entered the flat to be greeted by nothing but silence, and found Jeeves sitting at the table in the kitchen, smoking a gasper and dealing with the household ledger. He must have been awfully absorbed in it, because he normally meets me at the front door when he hears me come home.

"Everything all right, Jeeves?" I asked from the kitchen doorway.

Jeeves wasn't startled to see me (he doesn't startle easily), but he did glance up swiftly enough to tell me he hadn't been aware of my presence. "I apologise, sir. I didn't hear you come in. My concentration was elsewhere." He half-rose in his chair.

"No, don't bother, Jeeves." I gestured for him to remain seated, and he did. He gazed at me expectantly, and so I wet my lips to begin. "Jeeves, do you ever think about love?" This was usually the only way I could think of to broach the subject in conversation.

Jeeves blinked. "No, sir."

"Well, I— Sorry? No? Not ever, Jeeves?"

"Not really, sir."

"Never? For only the briefest moment, perhaps?"

"I cannot say, sir," Jeeves intoned, turning back to the ledgers that were spread before him on the table.

"I see." I stood there in the doorway like a Grade A chump, but then a thread came to me and I followed it. "The thing is, Jeeves, I've been thinking of these lessons of yours. The ones in the sensual arts, that is. And it occurs to me that you never once attempted to teach me about love. You taught me how to wrap a shawl round delicate shoulders and how to kiss behind an ear, but you never once said anything about how to love."

Jeeves ashed his gasper in a small tin tray at his elbow, not looking up at me. "Indeed, sir."

I crossed to the table and took the chair opposite Jeeves. I leant forward in my seat and placed my brown paper parcel on the corner of the table. "Why is that, Jeeves?"

"Well, sir." My valet continued making notations on his scraps of paper and expelled his last puff of cigarette smoke from his nostrils. "I do not consider myself an expert in that particular field, and, at any rate, I am given to understand it is not a skill one can learn."

I gave a short, harried laugh. "You, not an expert in something, Jeeves? I should call the papers."

Jeeves glanced up, just for a moment, just a flick of his blue eyes to my face as if to gauge the lengths to which I was laughing at his expense. He must have seen something that satisfied him, for he went right on jotting down dates and figures.

I swallowed down my nervousness and stood once more, pacing the kitchen floor until I was behind Jeeves' chair. It would be easier, I thought, if I didn't have to look him in the eye when I said it. I steeled myself, the stuff of Agincourt and all that, and said to the back of Jeeves' head, "Maybe it's not a skill to learn, but if you ever wanted someone to show you how to love, I could be your teacher this time. If you'd like."

Somehow, not seeing his expression was even more awful. I watched his spine go rigid, bringing him straight up in his chair. The pencil fell from his fingers and rolled a little ways across the table. His head bowed a bit, and I saw the pale nape of his neck, the spot he enjoyed me kissing so keenly. I couldn't stop myself from doing it now; I stepped forward and brushed my lips against the soft skin there, and Jeeves drew a sharp breath. I brought a hand up to cup his jaw, but Jeeves pushed away from me, and the table, very suddenly.

He stood at his full and considerable height, his eyes as blank as those on a marble bust. "Sir," he said, "what is the meaning of this?"

"I—I hope I'm not— That is, I don't think I'm out of line when I say— Oh, Jeeves, I don't think you're a different coloured newt or what have you!" I cried.

Jeeves looked at me, quite rightly, as if I were speaking in Swahili.

"Dash it all! I mean to say, I know you want me to throw my lot in with a lady of good standing, but that's not what I want. When it comes to the tender pash and the tender caress, there's only one suitable match for me, and that's you, Jeeves." I watched his face closely for any twitch that might betray his thoughts, but I saw none. "So, the point I'm coming to in all this, Jeeves, is that I'd like to throw in my lot with yours. What do you think?"

Jeeves looked to the floor, to the ceiling, to the sink, to everywhere in the room but me. Then, with his gaze fastened solidly on the pot rack, he said, very quietly, "I do not think such a thing is possible, sir."

"That's where you're wrong!" I rushed to him and clasped his cool hands in mine. "I've thought about this very thoroughly, Jeeves, and I don't care that we weren't born into the same class. My uncle married a barmaid, you know, and my cousin—"

"Mr Wooster." Jeeves said this sharply, and I was stunned into silence. It cut me to the quick, the way he refused to employ the slightly less informal "sir" during a conversation of this kind. "It is not our class difference that concerns me."

"Well, what is it? The fact that we're both coves?" I pressed our joined hands to my chest, where my heart threatened to beat right out of my body. "It's a hellish thing, I know, keeping such a secret love. But I do love you, Jeeves, and I'm willing to do whatever needs be."

"Therein lies the problem, sir." Jeeves gently disentangled his hands from mine. "I'm afraid I do not return the sentiment."

I gaped at him. "You—? You don't?" My hands fell listlessly to my sides.

Jeeves merely shook his head.

"But—" The memories of our time spent locked in passionate embraces, flashed through my mind. I had not imagined Jeeves' mouth, hot and wanting, on my own. I had not dreamed up his anguished flight from my bedroom that night we spent together. I had tasted the kisses of others, and I had been convinced that Jeeves' had something theirs lacked. "But Jeeves, you . . . mean to say you don't feel even the smallest speck of love for me? Are you certain?"

Again, Jeeves' gaze dropped from mine. "I am very fond of you, of course, sir. I would never have embarked on those lessons if I didn't trust you implicitly. However, the emotions you speak of, sir . . ." He sighed, a soft, sad sound. "I am not capable of that."

You've probably never had a hole punched in your chest, what? And the odds are not likely that you've felt your cardiac organ removed with a large pair of pliers. And yet I can think of no other way to say it: that is what I felt at that moment. Here I was, standing in front of the man I loved, laying it all at his feet only to be informed that everything I'd lain down was good only for the compost heap. I had heretofore supposed that the worst pain in the world was found in the dentist's chair, but this? This was a thousand times worse.

"Oh," I said. I couldn't think of anything else to say, so I said it again. "Oh."

"Please do not be overly concerned, sir," Jeeves told me, though his voice sounded as if it were coming to me through a thick fog. "I am confident that we will overcome this slight unpleasantness and return to our usual state of affairs, given a little time."

None of those words made a bit of sense to me. "Jeeves," I said, "none of those words make a bit of sense to me." I blinked; my eyes were burning awfully. I realised I was in danger of weeping. A swift exit was called for. "I'm going to have a lie-down," I murmured, and left for my bedroom. Jeeves did not follow.

[On to Part 3.](http://triedunture.livejournal.com/545598.html#cutid1)


	3. triedunture: Fic: Jeeves and the Lessons on Love (Part 3)

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[fic](http://triedunture.livejournal.com/tag/fic), [jeeves](http://triedunture.livejournal.com/tag/jeeves)  
  
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_ **Fic: Jeeves and the Lessons on Love (Part 3)** _   


I sat in bed and smoked what must have been about twenty-five of my Turkish cigs. I did a lot of staring out of windows and pacing the floor while puffing away like a bellows. It's conducive to thinking, the puffing, staring, and pacing, I mean. Hours passed, and I was curled up on my bed, having not even bothered pulling back the bedclothes. My last cig. was being stubbed when Jeeves entered. He didn't knock; he never does; but his glide wasn't as quick or assured as it might have been.

"Dinner is nearly ready, sir," he said.

I glanced at the window and was surprised to find that the sun had set sometime in my brooding. "I'm sorry, Jeeves. I should have mentioned I'm not very hungry. Hope you didn't go through too much trouble."

"No, sir. Very good, sir." And he moved to leave.

I stopped him with a low, "Jeeves."

"Yes, sir?"

"I would like you to book passage to New York. The very next ship, if possible."

"Certainly, sir. How long do you imagine our sojourn will last, sir?" He took his little pencil and notebook from his inner suit coat pocket, ready to mark down all the essential tasks that need doing when the young master leaves the homeland.

"Indefinitely, Jeeves," I said, reaching for my cigarette case. "And it won't be our sojourn. I'm going alone."

Jeeves' pencil stopped its scratching on the paper. One ebony eyebrow levered itself in my direction. "Alone, sir?"

"Yes." I sat up and pulled myself to the edge of the mattress with great effort. My muscles and bones creaked at the movement. "I don't know how else to put this, Jeeves, so I'll put it to you plainly. I've been thinking how things will be between us," I searched my pockets for my lighter, "now that you know everything that I—"

"Sir—" Jeeves protested.

"Jeeves, I do wish you'd let me speak!" I snapped. Jeeves' mouth shut obligingly. I gave up the chase for my lighter in my pockets and turned instead to the night table, where many things sat waiting to be knocked over in my quest to find the bally thing. I continued talking as I knocked said things about. "I've been thinking especially of the time you left my employ because you couldn't stand me anymore." I found the silver lighter underneath a face-down paperback and grabbed it. "Every time I do something you don't like, there is that unspoken threat that hangs in the air: that you can always leave."

"No, sir—" Jeeves tried again.

"Jeeves." My lighter flashed bright for a moment, and then dimmed as I lit my cigarette. I puffed once and said, "Let me finish. You can always leave; we both know that. But in this case, you will not leave."

"That is true, sir." Jeeves crossed over to the standing lamp and switched it on, casting a bit more light in the gloom. "I will not. The blame for these unfortunate circumstances does not rest on your shoulders alone. I would be loathe to give my notice over such a misunderstanding."

I gave a dry chuckle. "You just can't let me say what I need to say, can you, Jeeves? Will you be inserting your commentary during every breath I take?"

Strangely chastened, Jeeves bowed his head. "My apologies, sir. Pray, continue."

I took another long drag and regarded the weave of the carpet below my feet. "The crux of the matter, if crux is the word I want, is that I don't foresee my love for you diminishing at any future point." I could see Jeeves' stuffed frog facade was positively straining to get a word in edgewise. "I know what you mean to say, Jeeves. You think I'm foolish, young, naive, completely mistaken about the depth and nature of my feelings." His eyebrow told me I was correct. I shrugged. "I can only say you're wrong about that. And I suppose the only proof I can offer of that fact is that I—" I paused. Swallowed. Smoked a little more. Took a deep breath, then continued. "I cannot remain here with you, in this house, seeing you every day, and acting as if nothing's changed. I cannot live in such close quarters with you, so near to you and yet completely forbidden from showing you any gesture of affection. I wish I were a stronger man. If I could bury my heart and carry on, I would, because I know this is awfully unfair to you. But I can't live in this abject misery. I just can't."

I crushed my cig. in its tray along with its dead brothers and held my head in my hands. After a moment or two, Jeeves cleared his throat. Without looking up, I said, "Go ahead, Jeeves. I know you must have a lot to say."

When he spoke, his voice was a low rumble like thunder. "And what shall become of me, sir, if you go to America and never return?"

"You'll secure a new position in the blink of an eye, Jeeves. You'll have no troubles."

From the crease on his brows, I could tell Jeeves did not agree. "If my presence disturbs you, sir, I could take my annual vacation early. Two weeks of separation may shed some new light on your situation. Or I could keep my presence in the household to a minimum for a time, until you—"

I stopped him with a gesture. "No, Jeeves. I hate that it's come to this, but it's the only way as far as I can see. Prolonging the inevitable would be a terrible ordeal." I looked up at him, studying the lines of his face, pinched in anguish. "Please don't think I'm doing this to, well, punish you, Jeeves. I'll write you a glowing recommendation, of course." And I went back to staring morosely at the carpet.

Jeeves floated silently over to the bed and knelt, taking my hands in his as fast as a rabbit. His fingers clenched almost brutally. "Do you honestly think that is my greatest concern, sir?" he asked.

"No." I looked down at him with a stunned sort of expression. I slid my hands from his grasp and whispered, "And please don't think this is my way of blackmailing you into changing your mind. You don't need this job that badly."

With a pained look, Jeeves rose and turned to leave.

"The next ship to New York will leave in three days, if I remember the schedule correctly," he said as he exited, and if his voice sounded rougher than normal, what of it? This turn of events wasn't easy for either of us (though I couldn't help but worry for him). With my heart ripping itself to pieces in my chest, I kicked off my shoes and crawled into bed fully clothed.

The next morning I popped out of bed, dressed myself in a tidy suit, and strolled round the metrop. preparing myself and my estate for the long stay in America with a stiff upper lip . . . is what I wish I could tell you happened. In reality, this Wooster spent the next twenty-four hours in the hazy twilight of half-sleep, wrapped up in my bedclothes and not rousing for any meals or even a cup of tea. Jeeves may have come into the bedroom to coax me to drink some, but I vaguely recall waving him away.

The entire day went by, and night fell again. I was roused from my quasi-sleep by a hand shaking my shoulder. I looked up through the dim light to see Jeeves standing over me. In his hands was a wad of brown paper and a green leather-bound book.

"Sir," Jeeves said in his quiet morning voice, "this was in the kitchen. I've been cataloguing your belongings for shipment. Did you require this volume? "

I sat up and rubbed the grit of sleep from my eyes. "No." My voice was like gravel and frogs, all rolled together. In my just awakened state, I said the truth before I could think better of it. "It was for you, Jeeves."

"I've already read your published stories, sir."

"I know. It was a silly gift." I made a grab for the book, but Jeeves lifted it out of reach. "Jeeves, really, you don't need to keep it. Give it here."

I held my hand out for it, but Jeeves did not follow my directive. Instead, he slowly opened the front cover.

"Jeeves!" I lunged forward, but he was too quick for me. I could see in his face that his eyes were already running over the hastily scribbled lines that I had written there not one day ago:

_J.—_

For you, what may very well be the longest love letter ever written.

BWW

"I see, sir," Jeeves said quietly.

I didn't see how he reacted to the sodding inscription, because I had already pressed my fingertips to my shut eyes in a vain attempt to stop the tears from finally coming. I gave a small sniff, and the mattress dipped suddenly. Jeeves' solidity and warmth was right beside me, and that made my eyes leak all the more.

"I suppose you think me very stupid," I said as I wiped my sleeves across my face.

His arm, heavy and strong, slid round my shoulders, and I was pulled into Jeeves' barrel-like chest. His chin rested in my hair, and I could hear his heart beating steadily under my ear. "No, sir. I do not think that."

"Well, that's one of us, then," I muttered.

Jeeves clutched me tighter and whispered to the top of my head, "Sir, don't leave."

I shook my head, I shook all over. "I have to." Another tear fell and soaked into Jeeves' waistcoat. "What else can I do?" My hands scrabbled at his lapels, hanging on for dear life. "You can't love me."

His hands petted at my hair, down my spine, almost frantic in their movements. "You said you could teach me, sir. You said you would show me how to love," Jeeves murmured into my ear.

A hysterical laugh bubbled from my lips. "I don't think I can, Jeeves. You don't feel anything for me. I can't make you."

"That is not true. I—" Jeeves shook his head. "I feel this loss as keenly as a severed limb."

"Pah!" I pushed him away from me. "You can't have it both ways, Jeeves! Either you don't love me, or you do; it's actually quite simple!"

One couldn't help but feel skewered by Jeeves' shocked expression. His mouth didn't quite hang open, but you could tell by a certain thingummy in his visage that he was hurt. "It is anything but simple," he said in a low voice. "I am not like you, sir. I've never been naturally given to deep emotions. This—this _situation_ with you has been the most confounding experience of my life."

"You haven't seemed confounded, Jeeves. You seem positively un-confounded, if that's even a word." I scratched my cheek in thought, but then decided it didn't matter. "You turned me down like a bedspread without batting an eye, I mean to say."

"I am sorry, sir. My reaction was sudden." He looked up at me, and I noticed his hair was mussed just the tiniest bit. One strand hung down in his eyes, and Jeeves brushed it away. "I've had cause to turn down many offers of romance in the past; one might even call my actions instinctual."

"Really, Jeeves?" I frowned. "Who?"

Jeeves gave me a look that said I should know better than to ask questions like that. "From several corners, sir. The women were always dispatched quickly, as I have no wish to marry. It would not suit me." He swallowed. "I always made certain to keep the company of men who had no interest in anything but that day, or that hour."

My hand found his amid the tangled bedclothes for a moment. "What would you have me do, Jeeves? Because I'm dashed if I know what you're saying."

His fingers curled round mind tightly. "I wish I could erase my rash actions. I wish the clocks could be turned back to before I kissed you. If only I could force that from both our memories, we could return to our comfortable life."

His hair was in his eyes again; I reached up and brushed it behind his ear. "You wish you could still be darning my socks and brewing my tea, with neither of us the wiser? You'd wish you'd never touched me, or held me? Because if that's the case, then I think it's obvious that I need to leave for New York as soon as I can."

"No, I—" Jeeves dropped his gaze from mine for a moment before looking back up at me. "I do not look back on those times with anything but fondness, sir. But if it had never happened, then I wouldn't be here now, trying to decide whether I should lose you now," he brought our joined hands to his lips and kissed my white knuckles, "or lose you in a week, a month, however long it takes for my unworthiness to show."

"Jeeves—"

"Because you _will_ find me wholly unworthy, sir. I do not smile, I do not laugh, I will not dote on you as a lover should. Your heart is ten times what mine could ever be; yours has space enough for a thousand of me, and I am unsure if I can allow just the one of you." Jeeves pulled me by the arm, and I found myself pressed up against his chest once more, his lips whispering in my hair. "By all accounts, I should be encouraging you to flee to New York. But I shudder to think about my life without you in it, sir. I would not be myself without you here."

I brought my stiff arms around Jeeves' shoulders and clung to him, my eyes squeezing shut. "I love you just as you are," I said simply. "I don't want you even a shade different." I heard the gasp of surprise deep in Jeeves' chest, and he held me ever tighter. So tight that a tear or two was wrung from me, I dare say.

"Please don't go," Jeeves said, and though he would never quite sound like he was begging, there was a pleading note in his tone. "Allow me to try, sir. I will love you as best I can."

I admit it: I kissed him then. Perhaps I should have been worried and wondering about how serious Jeeves was about this, about how master and servant could possibly embark on such a thing without going mad, about a million things that needed worry and wonder. But all I knew was that Jeeves was there, and he wanted me in his own way, and that was enough for me. It had to be, what?

On my orders, Jeeves stayed in my bed with me that night. Nothing terribly exciting occurred, of course; after the night we'd had, we resembled human versions of wrung-out tea towels. However, once we were pajama-ed and ready for sleep, neither of us particularly wanted to part. So we slept side-by-side, curled together like two well-used utensils.

"Jeeves?" I murmured against his shoulder, still fighting off the curtain of Morpheus.

"Yes, sir?"

"Why is it spoons? They never call it forks." I wriggled beside him to illustrate what I meant.

"I imagine the hipbones so resemble the cup of a spoon that the appellation has stuck, sir."

"Ah, I see." A pause. "Jeeves?"

"Sir?"

"You smell wonderful."

"Thank you, sir." He sounded rather chuffed; I could hear it even in the dark. "May I say that I find your unique aroma to be pleasing as well?"

"You may. Goodnight, old thing."

"Goodnight," he said softly, "my own."

Well, I mean to say! This is the cove who swears he has not a romantic bone in his corpus! I fell asleep with what could only be the silliest grin in the world on my lips.

The next week was one of rapture for the young master. I formally agreed to forget New York for the moment, and Jeeves agreed (very formally) to employ all his powers of concentration on the problem of overcoming his cagey heart. He left it to Bertram how best to go about this, so just as I had trusted Jeeves to show me the ways of seduction, he relied on me to coax the love from his heart. I knew it was there; I was sure I caught glimpses of it when he watched me play a piece at the piano, or when I allowed him to light a gasper for me.

My idea for educating Jeeves in this loving business was simple. When my hand on his elbow turned from playful to tender, I didn't let him leave the room to recover his infamous mask. When I kissed him and told him how much I loved him, I didn't let his eyes stray to the ground. Most importantly, I pried into his thoughts in a way I never had before. Jeeves is the sort of cove who plays it close to the vest, to borrow a phrase from Rocky Todd. You get an inkling of what he must be thinking, but you never fully understand how or why or by what powers of deduction he arrived at it. And so I carefully pulled these bits of information from Jeeves' brain several times.

On one such occasion, I asked Jeeves, "Jeeves, why is it you detest me in bright, cheery colours? I know you're perhaps a tad older than me—"

"Eight and a half years older, sir."

"Oh? Is that all?"

"Yes. Sir."

"Oh, I didn't mean to give you the pip, Jeeves! I only meant you sometimes seem to have stepped out of the Victorian era. One might expect Sherlock Holmes to follow you into the room."

"I think not, sir. The gentleman, if I remember, was never very careful in matters sartorial."

"Be that as it may! Though you belong to the generation before mine, I don't understand why you hate the latest fashions so." I stretched on the chesterfield and gave him a bit of the baby blues. "Would you care to enlighten me, Jeeves?"

Jeeves hesitated, and I beckoned him to sit with me, which he eventually did. He thought a little, then said, "When I was a young boy, the middle son of the master of my house was one of those young gentlemen who were made into examples during the uproar of the Wilde affair." He looked over at me, his eyes strangely slick-looking. "I do not know if he was an invert or not; I only remember he was flamboyant in his dress."

"Golly." I swallowed. "That would put you off orange ties, what?"

"He killed himself before the matter was ever made public," Jeeves said with a shake of his head. "I know you find my tastes much too conservative, sir, but—"

I lifted a hand. "Say no more. Jeeves, from now on, if you see some spats or a hat in my wardrobe that causes the hair on the back of your neck to stand on end, just get rid of the offending article. No need to go to great lengths to convince me to allow you the liberty." And I sat up and wrapped my arms round his shocked and speechless frame.

Within a few seconds, my embrace was returned with aplomb, if that's the word I want. Jeeves even gifted me with a glimmer of a peek of a smile. Still, as I had for the last few weeks, I refrained from using the more physical expressions of love, as I knew it would be all too easy for Jeeves to label such activities mere dalliances. I wanted our understanding to be completely mutual before making love to Jeeves. Still, it was difficult. The memories of his mouth, his hands, and his body haunted me when we sat close on the chesterfield like that.

I pulled away with great reluctance. "It's getting rather late," I said, because it was. "My pajamas are calling, what?"

"Sir." Jeeves framed my face in his hands, making it rather difficult to look away. "I have never told that tale to anyone."

"I won't breathe a word of it, if that's what you're worried for."

"No, of course not." Jeeves tucked one of my more adventurous curls back behind my ear. "I do trust you, sir. A great deal. I would tell you whatever you asked."

"Really?" The words tumbled from my lips before I would stop them. "Then may I ask, do you miss kissing me, Jeeves?"

Jeeves' hands caressed down my jaw, then my throat, to press against my chest. "Most dreadfully," he answered.

I ran through my checklist in my mind: my hair had been combed, my suit wasn't overly wrinkled, my teeth hadn't been brushed since that morning but dinner had been onion- and garlic-free. I still smelled quite spiffing and my shoes weren't scuffed. Right!

I grabbed hold of one or two of Jeeves' ebony locks and kissed him in a bruising fashion. Perhaps I overdid the teeth and tongue, but absence makes the h. grow f. and all that; I found I couldn't kiss Jeeves with anything less than complete abandon. He didn't argue, to his credit. His hands fisted in my shirtfront and waistcoat, and I swore I could feel some of the stitching give way.

"Jeeves," I murmured as I placed small kisses along his neck, "can you feel what I feel when we're like this? Do you—that is—do you sense this is more than mere civility? That I'm not just giving you pleasure out of politeness or courtesy?" I pulled back to look him in the eye. "Do I feel any different from the other lovers you've had? Because as far as I can tell, no one else I've met has got a patch on you."

"Yes, sir. Certainly you are different." Jeeves was taking such deep, rapid breaths; I could feel his lungs panting in his chest, we were crushed so close together. "You possess a tenderness and a blithe disposition the likes of which I've never encountered." He nibbled my ear, even though he _knows_ what that does to me. "You offer me comfort when you should be cursing me," he whispered down my neck. "I don't understand what I've done to deserve your love."

"Nonsense." I ran my fingers through his hair, smelling the sweet scent of the brilliantine he used. "I wish you could see yourself as I see you, Jeeves. Then you wouldn't wonder."

He pulled away suddenly, his hands balled into fists in his lap. "Sir, I—" He turned to me, then faced straight ahead again, then shifted on the cushions as if he couldn't decide where to sit.

"Jeeves, are you all right?"

"I would like to say—" He paused once more. "At this juncture, I believe it prudent to . . . no." Jeeves shook his head like a frustrated frog.

"Oh my Lord." I peered into Jeeves' face. "Are you at a loss for words, old thing?"

"It is proving difficult to form the proper sentences, sir," he said.

My heart stopped in my chest. Was this where Jeeves finally informed me that, try as he might, he could never love me the way I did him? My hands shook, and my vision clouded. "Maybe you should just say it and be done with it, Jeeves," I said quietly.

"Very well." Jeeves took my hand in his and said, "I've examined all the facts and the non-facts, sir, and I know now that I love you." My heart stuttered, swelled, threatened to burst from my body! I searched Jeeves face for the slightest sign that he wasn't telling the truth, but I know my Jeeves. He may be able to lie smoothly to others, but I could always tell. And at that moment, I could discern no trickery.

"I am sorry for all the pain I caused you before I was able to arrive at this conclusion," Jeeves continued, "for my only excuse is that I've never felt this way, and never considered myself capable of it."

I placed a fingertip against his lips. "You'll apologise and explain yourself all night if I allow it. Just kiss me, will you?"

And so he did. We kissed for quite awhile on the chesterfield, Jeeves licking at my ear every few moments. I mussed his hair like I knew he enjoyed and listened to his low moans. It was incredibly similar to our old sensual lessons, except every action was accompanied by the wonderful knowledge that Jeeves was mine and I was his. When I couldn't bear being separated from Jeeves by even a molecule, I arranged my legs so as to sit astride his thighs, and his cockstand rubbed against me, stiff and eager.

"More carnal sympathy?" I teased.

"Never," Jeeves whispered. "It has always been my intense attraction to you that causes me to harden like this." He snatched one of my hands from his hair and pressed my palm against the bulge in his trousers. "My body wanted you long before my heart could fathom it. It has proven, in this instance, to be much more intelligent."

My own body shuddered deliciously. "Oh, Jeeves." I cupped him through the wool of his pinstripes. "I know it's probably too soon; this is all happening so fast. I—I'm afraid I will become rather forceful with you if we don't stop now."

Jeeves' hips bucked involuntarily and he sucked in a hissing breath. "Then let us continue," he said, kissing me once more.

When we parted for air, Jeeves directed, "Go to your bedroom, sir. I will follow you in just a moment."

If there had been a world record for the fastest sprint between chesterfield and master bedroom, I surely would have broken it then. All my dreams were coming true! I was finally going to make love to the one I cherished. But once I was in my room, alone and aching with need, doubt began to set in. Would I even have a bally clue about how to proceed? Fillies were one thing, but coves were quite another, and I had experience in neither. What if my lovemaking proved to be not at all up to snuff? One doesn't like to think that the tender emotions are completely dependent on physical dexterity in bed, but it seemed to me that if you were tying yourself to one man in a forever sort of way, you'd want to be sure that man could pleasure you like you wanted. Otherwise, you'd be missing a piece of the puzzle, what?

I was nearer to tearing out my hair than tearing off my clothes when Jeeves appeared. He stood in the doorway, illuminated from the lights in the sitting room, dressed in his shirtsleeves. I had no words for how beautiful he looked, standing there. He held a little something in his hand, which he tossed to me playfully. I caught it with my sharp helmet-grabbing reflexes and looked at the thing. It was a small jar of petroleum jelly. Frowns of confusion lined my face, I'm sure. But before I could ask Jeeves what the jar was for, he began disrobing.

He said nothing as he first unbuttoned his waistcoat and slid it from his shoulders. Silence remained as he unknotted his black tie and dropped it to the ground to meet the waistcoat. He undid the studs of his shirt while slipping off his shoes. Braces, trousers, socks and garters: they all were quietly discarded. He pulled his undervest over his head, his torso bunching and flexing with strength. And then, finally, the rest of his underthings were gone and Jeeves stood naked before me.

If you've never seen Jeeves sans uniform (and I'm betting you haven't), you couldn't know the physique he keeps hidden under all those layers. He was perfectly formed, tall and fit, with miles of tanned skin and crisp, dark curls on his chest and around his cockstand. If you took a dictionary and looked up "masculine beauty" there would be a lithograph of Jeeves. My mouth ran dry at the sight.

"Sir?" he prompted, resting one hand on his gorgeous hip and leaning his other forearm against the door jamb. It was a pose the likes of which I had never seen Jeeves in before. Fitting, I suppose, as he would hopefully be in several never-before-seen poses that evening with me.

"You're so absolutely exquisite," I breathed. I stepped close to him and kissed his lips, his neck, his bare chest. "Jeeves, you're aware that I will be relying on you tonight for everything? I've got a general idea of what goes on between two men, but the specifics are lost on me. I'm so damned out of my depth here, and you are so beautiful."

He wrapped his arms round me, and the sinful pleasure of his naked body against my clothed one filled me with desire. "I want you to take me, sir," Jeeves said, kissing my temple.

I was stunned. "Really? Are you sure? Not the other way around?" I had rather imagined that I would be taking a more passive role, being a fish out of water and all that.

"I've dreamt of being underneath you. Being buggered by you." His lips trailed down my cheek to whisper against my mouth. "I want to give you this."

"But will you enjoy it? That is, you are always so strong, Jeeves. So in control of everything," I said.

Jeeves nodded. "In my everyday life, yes. To relinquish that control is my most wanton fantasy." He kissed me softly. "Will you, please?"

"I'm certainly not going to say no!" I enthused. "Guide me as you will."

Jeeves directed my attention to the jar that I still had clutched in my hand, and told me this substance would go a long way in preparing him. We adjourned to the bed where Jeeves showed me what this preparation entailed. A normal person might have found this act too filthy to contemplate, but that normal person wouldn't have seen Jeeves do it. I watched Jeeves slick his fingers with the jelly and touch himself, working one finger into his little hole while his other hand pulled at his bollocks. He writhed like an animal on my bed and I, understandably, became an instant supporter of this buggery business.

"How long must you keep at this?" I asked, licking a drop of sweat from Jeeves' heaving chest.

"As long as it takes to be stretched for your cock," Jeeves panted. "Sir, take off your clothes. I wish to see you."

"Oh! Right-o." I undid my buttons and studs a bit haphazardly, trying to keep my eyes glued to the man beside me as I shimmied out of my togs. All the while, Jeeves spoke to me.

"Now my body is relaxed enough for a second finger," he said as he slid another into himself. "God in Heaven," he moaned, "I cannot wait to have you within me."

"I'm in a similar state, Jeeves." I pressed against him, our first embrace of bare flesh on bare flesh, and we both shivered at the heat, the sweat, the smell of each other's arousal. "Is there anything I can do for you, love?" I asked.

Jeeves slipped his fingers free of his body and took hold of my wrist, guiding my hand between his legs. "Give me your fingers. It would be wise to show you how this feels so that you may know when I'm ready for you in the future."

The thought of a future filled with nights like this made my cock twitch against Jeeves' stomach. My mouth found his, and we shared a kiss as I pressed my fingers to his hole. And Jeeves, mark my words, _whimpered_ into my mouth. My fingers, aided by the jelly, eased in and out of his arse, hot and tight. I had to call upon everything I'd learned during our damnable, beloved lessons to stop myself from coming off right then.

"Jeeves," I tried to say without a quiver in my voice, "if you're ready, maybe we should continue to the next stage."

"Agreed." He tugged on my wrist until my fingers left him, then rose to his knees. He paused, then touched my jaw with a light and tender hand. "I love you so much," Jeeves said.

"Returned in spades, old thing." I grinned at him.

The corner of Jeeves' mouth lifted in return, and then he swiftly arranged himself on his hands and knees, facing away from me. His tempting bottom lifted before me, followed by the long, beautiful line of his back. Jeeves looked over his shoulder at me, his eyes dark with need.

"Inside me, now, before I die from wanting you," his rough voice demanded.

I snapped to it. A hand on Jeeves' hip to steady me, and a hand on my cockstand to steady it, and the pieces began to fall into place. I pressed onward, breaching Jeeves as slowly as I could. The feel of his body, inside and out, was incredible. Each twitch of muscle and shivering sinew was telegraphed straight to me, so I felt all that Jeeves was feeling. I ran my hands from his hips up his back, smoothing down his skin and attempting to control my urge to pound into him with all my might.

"Does it hurt?" I asked, because logic dictated it must, and I hated to think that I was causing Jeeves pain.

"Not as such," he whispered. "It is an odd sensation, but the majority of the discomfort fades the deeper you go." I obliged by sliding in steadily. "There is a small spot two or three inches—Oh Lord!" This was shouted just as my cock rubbed against a little nub inside Jeeves. He slammed back against me, his arse now flush against me.

Once my eyes were finished rolling in the back of my head I asked, quite smugly, "Was that the spot you to which you referred, Jeeves?"

"You know it is," he snarled back. His hips continued pressing back and forth, desperately buggering himself on my prick. Our skin slapped together in a filthy rhythm. "Touch me, please!" Jeeves cried.

My hand dropped from the small of his back to his cock, dripping and slick, between his legs. I took him in hand, intermittently rolling his bollocks in my palm before returning my touch to his cock. It was so inconceivable to me that Jeeves, a man of so much strength and power, was letting me take him in this manner, I almost convinced myself this was a dream. But the locomotive-like breathing of Jeeves beneath me, his body working furiously towards his peak, the unending pleasure that suffused my every cell, this couldn't all be a dream.

I draped myself over Jeeves' back like a blanket, one hand still on his cock and the other pinching at one of his nipples. "I love being inside you," I said into his ear. "I love seeing you like this."

"Oh, allow me to be like this always!" Jeeves groaned, his head dropping forward and baring the back of his neck for my teeth. I nipped and bit at that strip of skin hungrily while Jeeves said, "I will remain in your bed all day; I will never wear clothes; you could fuck me from behind like this whenever you wished, or order me to suck at your cock at any moment. It would be bliss!"

"Jeeves, you indecent rake! You would lounge in my bed all the time, waiting for me to use you? You sound positively whorish, my love."" I sucked at the skin on his neck until it raised in a red welt.

Jeeves gave a cry that mingled pain with longing. "Yes, yes, mark me!" he begged. "I am yours."

Caught up in Jeeves' delectable talk, I dug my fingernails into the skin on his chest while I left another lovebite on his shoulder. All the while my hips pounded into Jeeves' willing body. From either the force of my thrusts or the mounting pleasure coursing through him, Jeeves' knees gave out and he slumped down on the bedclothes, sprawled out under me. He moved as if to rise again, but my hands pinned down his wrists.

"Mine," I murmured in his ear. "Say it again."

"Completely yours," Jeeves swore, spreading his legs even more.

I was seconds away from coming off violently, so I reached under Jeeves' belly and took hold of his cock, which was leaking so much fluid I had to ask, "Have you come off, Jeeves?"

Words seemed to leave my man as he shook his head and buried his face in a pillow.

"You're about to?" I queried, tugging at his prick with all due speed. "Come off, love. Come off for me, Jeeves." I angled my hips just a bit and touched that small spot within him once more. Jeeves howled, muffled, into the bedclothes and his entire body jerked as if burned. His cock twitched in my hand, spurting his seed into my fingers. I waited as long as was gentlemanly possible for Jeeves to ride out his peak, but after a few moments I could stand it no longer, and I spent myself deep in his body.

I collapsed onto Jeeves' heaving back, slicked with sweat and not altogether aware if I was alive or dead. I felt so positively fantastic that I thought I couldn't be alive, and yet there were no angels hanging about. Unless one counted the mussed and panting naked valet beneath me, but if I were to call Jeeves such a thing, he would probably not appreciate it.

As I gasped in huge lungfuls of air, my hands gentled on Jeeves' wrists and I twined my fingers with his. "Are you all right?" I asked. "Did I do well?" Truth be told, I had been so wrapped up in the thing that I hadn't stopped to think if I was doing it properly.

Jeeves turned his head to meet my eyes over his shoulder. His black hair was in disarray, his cheeks were flushed, and he had never looked so beautiful as he did then. "You were exceptional," he told me, his voice filled with pride.

I couldn't hide my relief. "Thank you, Jeeves. You weren't half-bad, of course," I said, giving him a teasing peck on the nose. "Now let me get off of you. I'm sure you'd rather not sleep with a Bertram-shaped sack of potatoes slung across your back." With some effort, I levered myself off of Jeeves. My softening cock slipped from him, and a thin trickle of white seed ran down the inside of his thigh. "Oh, Lord, Jeeves," I whispered, sitting back on my heels and gazing at his prone, debauched form. "You'll make me harden again in a minute if you keep up this wheeze of yours."

"And what wheeze is that, sir?" he asked, rolling onto his side and giving me a good look at the glistening mess of fluid on his chest and belly.

"Looking so gorgeously sensual, of course," I said, flopping down beside him. Jeeves wrapped his arms round me, and as sticky and tired as I was, I couldn't help but be overjoyed. "Jeeves, I am overjoyed."

"So the experience was pleasing to you as well?" Jeeves asked. One might think he would say such a thing in a self-satisfied manner, but my ear was pressed to his chest and I could hear his heart skip a beat when he asked it.

"It was," I kissed the hollow of his throat, "the most," I kissed his chin, "enormously," I kissed his cheek, "fantastic thing. And I was able to share it with you, which makes it all the sweeter." I finally arrived at his lips, and kissed them thoroughly. "You may think you're not an easy man to love, Jeeves, but if our nights are just one-tenth as wonderful as this one, I don't think it will be a hardship."

Jeeves' face took on a grave look then. "But hardship is most certainly ahead, sir. Our lives will be shrouded in secrecy forever. The threat of discovery will hang over our heads until the day we die."

"Pish posh," said I. "Have you seen yourself in the mirror? Rather softens the blow for me, I should think."

Jeeves flipped us suddenly so that I was underneath him, helpless against his greater height and musculature. "Sir, this is serious." His eyes glinted in the fading light.

I gave him another soft kiss, one that lasted, one that he responded to after a short time. "So is my love for you," I said in a quiet voice when we parted. "I am willing to accept the terms. Can you, Jeeves?"

His frown softened, and he gazed down at me fondly. "I do, sir."

"Well, then." I grinned. "To the bath, my love?"

"Certainly, my only," Jeeves said, and swept me up in his arms before I could say hullo. That night, I taught Jeeves how to relax amid the soap suds and the rubber duckies, and he taught me how best to fit two grown men in one bathtub. This is all to say, the lessons never quite stopped. They continued on, with Jeeves and I trading the role of student and lecturer every day. Just as it should be, what?

 

fin.

> Whew! This took a lot of time to finish up but I managed to use mu holiday wisely today and get it done. I hope you enjoyed, y'all. This was more smutty than I normally write, and also a different type of angsty. Let me know what you think. Comments mean I turn into a typing machine, so go for eet. &lt;3 &lt;3 &lt;3


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